


You Look

by Paperclippe



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Battle, Comedy, Dark Comedy, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Emprise du Lion, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Internal Conflict, Love, Orlais, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Silly, Skyhold, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 62
Words: 41,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paperclippe/pseuds/Paperclippe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative romance for Evelyn and Cullen. 95% fluff. 5% dragon fights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're Not Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/gifts).



“Ah, Inquisitor,” Cullen Rutherford stood beside the War Table, his hands behind his back and chest puffed out, his chin up and a little forward. He looked every bit like the soldier he was, even if his rank took him above and beyond the front lines, even if he were no longer one of the Templar Order. “Good to see you.”

Evelyn nodded to her commander, and accepted small bows from the Seeker Cassandra and her spymaster Leliana, while Ambassador Josephine gave a deep bow even while making notes on a piece of parchment that she held steady with a large board in her hand.

“And you, Commander,” Evelyn said to Cullen, folding her arms in front of her chest and directing her attention to the large map spread out on the table before her. There were markers here and there of many shapes and sizes, but Cullen nudged one over and pointed to a detail on the map that looked the the face of a lion. His previously imposing expression fell, and the lines in his face were suddenly deep, the stubble creating a worried shadow on his jaw. “It’s Grand D - er, Emperor Gaspard. He, ah…” Cullen worked his jaw back and forth for a moment, before Josephine took over for him, looking down at her note board with furrowed brows.

“The Emperor requests an audience with you at the Winter Palace. He says he has valuable information regarding a certain Orlesian noble who may be helping to smuggle red lyrium to the templars in exchange for having made a deal… with Corypheus.” 

Evelyn sighed, and Cullen raised an eyebrow at her in a way that indicated that he felt much the same. “If he’s got that much information,” the Inquisitor began, “why doesn’t he just have his own army take this noble into custody?”

“My dear Inquisitor,” said Leliana, a smile playing in her lilting voice as much as across her lips, “the Emperor is doing us quite the favor. By allowing us to take this nobleman into custody, he is giving the Inquisition some much-needed good publicity, don’t you think? Lest you forget, there are those who are still not pleased with your station.” Her eyes gleamed in the morning sun and gave the suggestion - more that just a suggestion - that Leliana loved this sort of thing. Having lived a good portion of her life in Orlais, she was still much more fond of The Game than anyone else in the room, except perhaps Josephine.

“This is all ridiculous. This man is aware that one of his nobles is smuggling a dangerous substance to our opposition, and he is doing nothing. Nothing!” Cassandra said sternly, full lips pressed thin. The scar on her cheek was tugged tight with the vitriol on her face. “We don’t need publicity; we are not here to be paraded before the masses so that they can judge our worth. We are here to stop Corypheus, not… not…” she threw up her hands and turned her back to the table. Her short hair seemed to stand more on end than usual.

“Lady Cassandra, I think that Leliana - and the Emperor - have a point. Not only will it look good for us to be the ones who take charge of this situation, we’re much better equipped to deal with the red templars, given our recent experience.”

Evelyn shuddered, pulling her hands over her auburn hair. In her mind, still vivid, was the image of one of the behemoths, the red templars who had given over so fully to the influence of red lyrium that their fleshly bodies had turned into crystals of the magical mineral itself, growing and growing until they were more rock than human, huge and mindless, driven only by the influence of the substance that had changed. She made a pained sound.

“Inquisitor,” said Cullen, sensing her unease, “our troops can go in and eliminate this threat. This will be more than easy for them. A lot of them were templars once, good soldiers.” He put his palms down on the table and leaned across it, speaking softly to her. “We can send them in -”

“No, Cullen, no,” Evelyn let her arms drop. “It should be us. It should… be me.” She sucked at her teeth and nodded, rubbing the Anchor on her left hand with the thumb of her right. Even when it was not evident, it was present, and her stress seemed to ball up in the palm of her left hand.

“Evelyn,” the commander said softly, but she shook her head and he silenced, respecting her order for him to stop.

“Well,” said Leliana, still chipper. “I’ve got some ravens to send. We should make for Halamshiral as soon as possible. Inquisitor?”

“Tomorrow,” Evelyn said wearily. “We can leave tomorrow.” 

...

Evelyn Trevelyan was born into nobility, and she had hated it from the moment that she had been old enough to realize that she was - her family was - different from most of the others in Ostwick, in all the Free Marches even. Her family’s nobility was not one of old titles and dusty ancestral tombs; no, the Trevelyans had strong ties to many other noble houses all over Thedas, from Antiva to the Tevinter Imperium.

And yet, as soon as it became obvious that Evelyn had a talent for magic, she was locked away in the Circle, just like any other mage.

Part of her was glad for it, glad to get away from politics and posturing. But another part - a much larger part - hated the constant vigilance of the templars that watched her every move, judged her silently - or not so silently - hated being confined to the tower and never having a change to live her own life. When she had heard of the mage uprising happening what felt like just a stone’s throw away in Kirkwall, instigated by the mage Anders, she almost long to be a part of it, to throw off both the oppression of her name and her station. Instead, she had been chosen to attend the conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, to restore peace between the mages and templars.

And of course that had brought her here.

Now she was standing over her bed, having thrown all the formal wear from her chest of drawers onto the surface of her duvet, and was frowning at it like it had kicked her cat. Here she was again, bound in an entirely different way, and still politicking and posturing. This was not what she wanted. She had never asked for any of this. A juvenile thought, she knew, and not the first of its kind. But somehow she had gone from nobility to being a worthless mage, to being a worthless noble mage, to being the leader of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste, the prophet of a divine being in which she did not even believe.

From the back of her throat, Evelyn cried a guttural cry like a frustrated child and swept all of the finery from her bed and onto the floor. 

From the foot of her stairs, she heard the clearing of a throat.

“What  _ is it _ , Cullen!” she shouted. Though the commander had been nothing but kind to her, his former allegiance to the Templar Order sometimes set her on edge. She could see it in the way that he held himself, see it in the way he sometimes fliched involuntarily - sometimes flinched voluntarily - at the suggestion of the prolonged and necessary freedom, as Evelyn saw it, of mages. She knew that he was a good man acting only from his own experience, much of it dark and painful, but sometimes when she was around him she had to ball her hands into fists so tight the fingernails dug into the flesh to keep from sending one of those same fists sailing into the side of his square jaw.

And other times, she wanted nothing much more than to have him fix his tired eyes on her and smile in that crooked way that he smiled, his upper lip tightening where it was punctuated by that scar.

This was not one of those times.

“I… apologize, Inquisitor. If this is a bad time, I can -”

The softness in his voice sucked all of the heat out of her righteous anger and her shoulders slumped forward a bit, realizing how childish she was being.

“No, Commander, it’s alright, I just…” she bent down to pick up a blue silk blouse up off of the floor. She sighed. “Nothing. Come up.”

His footsteps fell heavy and even on the wooden stairs, and he was at her side, reaching beside her to retrieve a scarf. He held it out, offering it to her as though it were a peace offering. She accepted it and tossed it onto the bed.

“I want you to know,” he said, walking away from her to allow the Inquisitor some dignity as she retrieved the rest of her garments from the floor, “that I’m not happy about this either.” He faced her desk, away from her, and he picked up a small letter opener whose handle was in the shape of an elfroot vine. He twiddled it between gloved fingers before setting it back down on the wooden surface next to a stack of parchment. “Cassandra, rather obviously, isn’t either.”

Evelyn allowed herself a smile. Cassandra hid nothing. The Seeker had her own past, not so different from the Inquisitors. Part of the Nevarran royal family, Cassandra Pentaghast had jumped at the first chance she had to get out of her lot in life, becoming something of a hero when she had saved the life of one of the previous Divine. Though Cassandra was skeptical of mages, she had fought alongside good ones, respected the Inquisitor, and took absolutely no shit from anyone. Evelyn appreciated her bluntness when it felt like everyone else around her was talking in circles. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that I’m not the only sane member of this Inquisition.” Evelyn said, though her bitterness felt hollow now.

“Don’t say that too loudly,” said Cullen, turning back to face Evelyn, “Leliana has spies everywhere,” and he gave her a wink that belied the commander’s good humor, though more often it was only his stern nature that showed.

“Let her listen,” Evelyn challenged playfully. “She knows I think this Game is bullshit. Gaspard has given us all the information we need, save for the name of the nobleman, but he’s doing his damnedest to make sure we give him our presence to pull it out of him in his stupid palace. Yes, let’s go have an audience with the Emperor when he could just tell us who we need to… to…”

“It’s not easy, is it?” Cullen mused, taking a step forward and crossing his arms. His face was serious again.

“It’s… necessary,” Evelyn said. “But no. It’s never easy. They’re all people we kill.”

“Don’t think of it like that. They’re serving Corypheus. They gave up their lives when they promised them to him.”

“Not all of them.”

“No,” he admitted, a sneer creeping into his tone. “Some of them just deserve to die.”

Evelyn shook her head and turned away, focusing again on the clothing on her bed.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said from behind her. “I didn’t…”

She shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”

“I may not be,” he offered, “but perhaps… perhaps it should never be easy. Perhaps that’s why you’re the proper leader of this Inquisition. Because even when you know what you have to do, it’s never easy. No,” he decided, “it shouldn’t be.”

“Why can’t Gaspard -” she turned to face him, and he took her elbows in his hands.

“Because Gaspard stopped being a soldier to start being a king. Chevalier or soldier, emperor or king, it’s all the same. And now he gets people like us to do his dirty work, gets us to show our infamous faces at his palace to drum up more respect for himself. For him? This is easy.”

“Bastard,” Evelyn spat.

“He is that,” Cullen agreed and relaxed his grip on Evelyn’s arms, spreading his fingers a little wider along the length of her limbs. She eased her own muscles and let herself be quiet for a moment, until she noticed a small trembling in Cullen’s hands.

Evelyn slid her arms away under her hands met his, and she held them there, asking, “How are you doing? Cassandra hasn’t told me anything.”

“I’ve stopped reporting to Cassandra since I stopped taking the lyrium. I -” he turned his face away from Evelyn but made no move to withdraw his hands. “I have been better.”

“You look,” Evelyn began before realizing she had no idea what she was going to say. How did he look? He looked pale, his straw-colored hair looking almost dark against the whiteness of his skin. He looked tired, his deep-set eyes looking more sunken. He looked thin, the curve of his cheekbones more obvious now than it had been upon their meeting in Haven. But his eyes looked brighter, their rich brown color more clear than before. There had to be an adjustment period after more than fifteen years of lyrium use. The worst seemed to be over. What he looked like, she realized, was more a harried, worried commander in the middle of a war than a trembling addict, tired and worn from the substance that had claimed him. “You look good, Cullen,” she said now, and she meant it.

There was a pause, and Cullen’s strong hands stilled their shaking as he tightened his gloved fingers around her thin, bare ones. His lips parted, and he cocked his head as though he was realizing something and was trying to figure out a way to phrase it.

“Evelyn, you… look beautiful,” and he took a slow step closer to her before his brown eyes quickly flicked to the pile of clothes on her bed and he caught himself, letting go of her hands and sputtering, “Y-you look beautiful in anyth- Whatever you choose will be m-more… more than adequate for -” he took a step back, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes flicking from Evelyn’s feet to her head, her hands still outstretched and her brow knitted in a blend of confusion and shock.

“Cullen, it’s -”

“Inquisitor. I’m sorry. I - will be off.” And he made for the stairs with such wide, purposeful strides that Evelyn was certain he would tumble headfirst down them, but when she heard the door to her quarters swing forcefully closed behind him, she let her hands fall to her sides and she took in a deep breath through her nose, sitting down heavily on the articles of clothing that festooned her bed.

“Templars,” she muttered.


	2. Sweet Dreams, Commander

Evelyn took her meal alone in her quarters that evening; she was angry, perhaps wrongly so, but angry nevertheless, with Josephine and Leliana for insisting the situation she was about to be in was in her own and the Inquisition’s best interests, and she had no idea what was on Cullen’s mind since he had come to see her in the late morning. Maybe it was the lyrium. She didn’t feel much like explaining herself to any of her other companions, and Cassandra, the only person Evelyn thought she might care to be around, was off with her nose in another of Varric’s D-grade romances. Was it adorable? Yes. Did Evelyn understand it? Not one bit, but if it made the Seeker happy.

But as Evelyn sat at her desk, pushing peas around her plate with a heavy fork, she found her mind wandering. Her gaze drifted up and out the balcony doors to the mountains beyond Skyhold, wondering what would happen if she twisted all of her bedsheets together and slid down the side of the fortress and ran away into the night, never to be seen again.

Well, first, she would more than likely fall to her death, and if she didn’t, she would probably freeze to death or starve within a week.

But if she just stood up, stuffed her things in a bag, and walked out - what would happen?

For a brief, fleeting moment, she had a glorious vision of herself, free in the world, on the run, perhaps, but alone, wild, and completely unburdened by responsibility.

And then she realized that that would would never, could never be, because if she didn’t stop Corypheus, there might not be much of a world left at all. Evelyn looked down at her left hand, this limb cursed by its mark, its Anchor, and she longed to be able to leave it behind. But it was a part of her, and what was more, people were counting on her. People believed in her.

It was a scary thing. It was so big. And she was so small.

Evelyn stood up quickly, the wood of her heavy chair scraping loudly against the hard stone floor. She walked away from her desk, from her quarters, and, passing through the main hall, Evelyn strolled away from Skyhold keep and into the evening.

 

...

 

Her feet took her up and up and up, wandering along the battlements, stepping carefully over and around broken bits of stone that had not entirely been repaired yet, might never be. She passed through unoccupied towers and turrets, up and down the dozens of staircases, walking slowly as the cool late evening air turned to the crisp air of night. She watched the sky turned to black and tried not to remember that tomorrow evening she would be watching the sunset from the Winter Palace while trying terribly hard to be someone she wasn’t at all.

Evelyn found herself at Cullen’s door.

She gave it a frown. She could go back, walk the long way back around to the grounds, and up the hill to the front entrance, or she could simply pass through, turn right, and be on her way back to her quarters. She could say hello to Solas on the way, if the elf felt at all like talking. He had been more moody than usual lately.

Flames, she thought, this was her Inquisition, and she wasn’t going to go all the way back around. Without knocking, Eleanor opened the door to Cullen’s quarters and let herself in.

She found the commander bowed in deep concentration over his desk. His gloves had been cast aside and his hair seemed less slicked back than normal, small unruly curls falling over his wide forehead. His face looked wan and the candles in the room burned low, a few guttering on the verge of going out, but Cullen seemed not to notice.

He lifted his head as though with great effort, and, seeing who it was who disturbed his concentration, quickly straightened.

“Inquisitor - I wasn’t expecting you,” he said softly, and when he looked at her, Evelyn could see the red that ringed his eyes.

“Why would you be?” she asked, matching his volume. “Everything alright?”

“It can be worse at night,” he said simply, as though commenting on the weather. “And this traveling business tomorrow isn’t helping.”

“You should get some rest,” Evelyn suggested, pointing up to where his bed was kept.

“Pah,” Cullen dismissed her. “I’m going to spend all day tomorrow on a horse. I’ll get plenty of rest then. I have troops to take care of now,” his hand swept above the surface of his desk, indicating supply orders, troop movements, scout reports.

“Commander - Cullen. It can wait,” Evelyn cautioned, noticing the sweat that beaded on his brow. “That’s an order, Commander,” she said, trying to sound light despite her real concern.

His dark eyes fixed on hers and saw what she saw when he read her expression. “It’s that bad?”

Evelyn went to the desk, reaching across it to put a hand on his forehead. “You’re like ice, Cullen.”

“Ah,” he said.

“Bed, Commander,” said Evelyn, “and no horse for you. You can ride in the carriage with me.”

“Inquisitor, I -”

“Will not look like a drowned nug in front of Emperor Gaspard tomorrow. You’re the eyes and ears of this army, Cullen. I need you to be a capable tactician tomorrow, understand?”

He took in a deep, resigned breath, and looked toward his bookshelf, toward where he kept his lyrium kit. “Maybe I should -”

Before he finished the thought, Evelyn slapped him hard with an open palm.

“Absolutely not,” she insisted, slamming her hands down on his desk. “You’re better than that, Cullen. You’re stronger than that. I need you beside me, and I need your head clear. Can you do that or not?”

The commander had brought his hand to his cheek where Evelyn had struck him, eyes wide less with the hurt of the slap than the shock of her fierce concern. “I… yes, Inquisitor,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Evelyn’s fingers reached across the desk slowly to where Cullen’s resting hand lay. She grabbed it quickly and gave it a squeeze. “Cullen. I don’t want to lose you. Not to that… that shit. This Inquisition needs you,” she insisted, and she reached up with her free hand to rest it on top of the hand that still lingered on the commander’s face. She wasn’t much for healing, but she sent a wash of calm, of cool clarity through the man as best as she could. His eyelids fluttered a bit with release.

She let him go and hitched her thumb toward the door. “You know where to find me if you need me, but what you really need right now,” she said, pinching out candles on her way out of the room, “is to let yourself rest.”

“You do the same, Inquisitor.”

“Sweet dreams, Commander,” she said with her back to him, as she walked out the door.


	3. To the Winter Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She might have liked it very much.

As she had promised, Evelyn insisted Cullen join her in her carriage on their way to Halamshiral the following morning. It had meant that Josephine had to be edged out, as there was only just barely enough for three, but Evelyn insisted that she would need the space to stretch out, to sleep. Josephine wanted the head of the Inquisition to be well-rested, didn’t she?

Though they faced each other, the Inquisitor and Commander rode in silence, each staring out their own window as the sun rose, until Evelyn lay her head back on the board behind her and tried to doze.

It was of course in that moment that Cullen decided to speak.

“I would like to apologize for my behavior yesterday, Inquisitor,” he said, his gaze still watching the landscape, as though he were speaking aloud to himself.

“Mm?” said Evelyn, gently retrieving her mind from sleep. “No, no need. You were - well, I apologize for… treating you so harshly. It must be hard for you -”

“Not only that,” he said, finally bringing his eyes to her and leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees. He wore the bright red formal wear of the Inquisition, blue sash across his chest. His goldenrod yellow gloves were lain to the side, and Evelyn watched his bare fingers clench has he considered his words. “Yesterday morning,” he stated, as though this were a complete sentence, and it took the Inquisitor a few minutes to divine his meaning. When she did, she only rolled her eyes.

“Maker’s breath, Cullen, there’s nothing to apologize for,” she insisted. He gave her a skeptical glance and she shook her head. “I promise. I…”  _ I might have liked it _ , she wanted to say, but the words caught in her chest, in her mind. Might she?

Evelyn looked the man over from tip to toes. He said it was worse at night, but the difference from the previous evening to this morning was striking. His hands were still, his back was straight, each and every one of his curly hairs had been wrestled into place. He looked healthy, he looked good, he looked less tired than he had in her quarters. Perhaps he had rested well after all. But that wasn’t it, was it? No. It was the cut of his jaw, it was the rough, careless stubble along it. It was the deep set of his brown eyes and the worried creases in his forehead and along his wide nose. It was that scar on his upper lip, the firm set of his broad shoulders.

Yes.

She might have liked it very much.

Evelyn felt color rising to her cheeks, the same royal red of the formal uniform which she too wore, and would wear until she changed into the despicably feminine - for her, at least - garb that Josephine had suggested might make a good impression for dining and dancing. She had had to look imposing before, certainly, and a uniform would be wise for the talks when they hoped to gather the missing information they needed about the Orlesian nobleman out of Gaspard - quite frankly, he owed it to them, Evelyn figured - but that it might serve her well to look softer, more approachable.

Evelyn decidedly thought that that was bullshit, but she would at least humor her Ambassador, if it meant all she had to do was wear some uncomfortable clothes for a few hours. She had no plans to wipe the scowl off of her face.

But for now all she wanted to wipe off of her face was the blush that she could still feel on her skin.


	4. This is Orlais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go learn some secrets.

“That bastard!” Evelyn hissed as Josephine tugged hard and harder still at the corseted paneling that Inquisitor was meant to wear under her jacket. She refused to wear a dress despite Josephine and Leliana’s urgings, opting instead for a finely tailored (if tightly fitted) blue silk jacket and soft white velveteen leggings that fit comfortably inside her boiled leather boots. The jacket showed a bit more skin below the neck than Evelyn would have liked, but she was, after all, supposed to be compromising. 

“You didn’t honestly think that Gaspard would just give you the man’s name, did you Inquisitor?” Leliana said, a radiant hum in her voice.

Evelyn sucked in a deep breath - or tried to; the air was forced out of her as her ambassador gave one more swift tug on the laces of the bodice before tying them tightly in a practiced bow. “I thought that’s what we were here for,” she growled.

Leliana shook her head, short, coppery hair fluttering gracefully around her cheeks. “It is, Inquisitor, but he won’t give it to you so easily.”

Narrowing her eyes as she shrugged on her jacket, Evelyn said, “Easily? I just sat in a discussion for three hours regarding the whereabouts of a man smuggling red lyrium to Corypheus’ templars and I have absolutely nothing to show for it except bruised ribs!” She rubbed her sides roughly, and Josephine gave a dainty shrug that said she was only doing her job.

“Well,” said Josephine, adjusting her own skirts in the mirror, “at least you handled yourself well,” and she tucked a black curl behind her brown ear. “I thought Cassandra was absolutely going to pop.”

“I’m very shocked that she didn’t,” and Leliana dropped the pitch of her voice to imitate the Seeker, affecting an accent that was nothing like her own but equally as much like Pentaghast’s, “‘Yes, but Emperor, I don’t think you understand the utmost importance - !’ Poor Cassandra.”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly going out of his way to address her concerns,” Josephine conceded, heading for the door.

“And why should he?” Leliana asked. “This is all part of the Game, Josie. You know that. Just because we don’t have an audience tonight doesn’t mean we’re not being watched.”

“Of course, Leliana.”

“This is madness,” Evelyn murmured under her breath, flexing her hands, feeling the weight of the Anchor in her left palm, a weight that spread heavily into her fingers.

“This is Orlais, Inquisitor,” said Leliana with a smile, and she reached out to adjust the silver buttons on Evelyn’s coat. “You look lovely. Come, now. Let’s go learn some secrets.”


	5. At Least We Can be Miserable Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn and Cassandra commiserate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized I posted the wrong chapter earlier! Sorry! All better now.

Inquisitor Trevelyan cautiously descended the staircase to the ballroom floor. There weren’t many eyes about, but she had the suspicion that all were upon her, no matter how small she tried to make herself. The band had already started to play, some waltz or other, and she was certain that she didn’t know the steps, so she found a place along the wall and tried to make herself look unavailable. She crossed her arms high up on her chest, pressing one hand to her neck, feeling uneasy in the small crowd.

“You look like I feel, Inquisitor.” Cassandra’s voice floated over the sound of the band, and the tall woman joined Evelyn at her side. The Seeker was still dressed in her red Inquisition finery; it looked strange on her - looked strange on everyone - but Evelyn couldn’t help but feel like the sharply cut uniform was preferable than the getup in which Josephine had dressed her.

“Lost?” Evelyn offered.

“I was going to say, like you want to choke yourself to be rid of the place, but lost works too.” 

“I would lie if I said I hadn’t considered it. I just hope none of these people ask me for a dance. I have a bad history with dance partners here,” Evelyn said flatly, recalling Florianne’s dance with her on her previous visit to Halamshiral. Evelyn still wasn’t certain she had made the right choice. She still felt like she had Celene’s blood on her hands.

“That you don’t,” agreed Cassandra. “But at least time we are not seeking to depose anyone.”

“We weren’t before,” Evelyn said softly, even though she knew that wasn’t entirely true.

“I don’t like these dinners,” Cassandra said. “All these little finger foods. I want to sit down and eat a meal. Standing and eating, dancing and eating, flagging down servants,” she made a frustrated noise. “Why should I have to chase after my dinner?”

For the first time that evening, Evelyn smiled. She reached out and grasped Cassandra’s shoulder in solidarity, and the Seeker looked down at Evelyn and gave a small smile of our own.

“At least we can be miserable together,” Pentaghast offered.

Evelyn nodded. “Could be worse.”

“It could be better.” Cassandra’s sharp eyes drifted up to the balcony where Josephine and Leliana roamed. “Look at them up there,” she thrust out a hand. “Prancing about. Giggling. Ugh.”

Evelyn shook her head. “They’re effective. They know how to use a situation like this,” she allowed.

“I will not argue their results, but their methods…” her voice trailed off and she let her hand drop. “I would much rather use my sword. You cannot argue with a sword.”

“You can try,” came a tenor voice from across the ballroom floor. “Seeker,” Cullen gave her a small bow, one hand in front of his waist, the other behind the small of his back. “Inquisitor, a word?”

Evelyn gave Cassandra a quick glance, and the Seeker returned a small nod. The commander offered his arm to Evelyn and she took it, allowing him to lead her across the ballroom and up the stairs to a deserted balcony. They could hear the quiet whispers of people in the courtyard below but couldn’t make out the words. Even so, in the still night air, Cullen kept his voice down.

“I spoke with Gaspard alone,” he said, rubbing the scar on his lip with the tip of a gloved ring finger.

“And?” said Evelyn, leaning in. “What did he say?”

“Not much else, I’m afraid,” Cullen’s eyes glanced from left to right, once back toward the palace, once to the garden over which they stood. “I have the terrible suspicion he’s leading us on.”

“Why would he call us all the way to Halamshiral for that?” she whispered, her right hand gripping the balcony railing as the left formed a fist that rested on her hip.

“You know how these people operate, Inquisitor. It’s all about appearances. Now, I don’t doubt that Leliana is ferreting out some useful information in there. But I don’t think we’re going to get what we came for.”

Evelyn breathed out an exhausted sigh. “Why I waste my time with these people…”

“It’s a necessary evil,” he muttered, and turned to go back inside, but stopped and faced Evelyn once more. “I just wanted to say… You look -”

“Adequate?” she jabbed, throwing his words from the previous morning back at him.

He smiled, cocking an eyebrow, and amended, “More than adequate.”

A slow grin crept across her lips, and she slid her hand across the railing as though to pull herself closer to him.

“Come along, you two,” Leliana’s voice reached them from the balcony door. “To make an appearance, you have to actually appear, you know.”

The joy dropped from Evelyn’s face and her fingers released the railing. Hunching her shoulders forward, she stalked past Cullen and went back inside.


	6. Peace and Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment in the library.

Evelyn spent all evening trying to catch small glances of the commander out of the corner of her eye. She was sure that she smiled and nodded when approached by the Orlesian elite, and that she shook hands and bowed and perhaps even said the right things (though she doubted it; she wouldn’t have known what any of the right things were to say even if she were giving her full attention; but that was what she had Leliana and Josephine for). But for some reason knowing that Emperor Gaspard hadn’t actually called her to Halamshiral for any benefit of her own felt like a weight lifted off of her shoulders. She wanted the name of the man who was supplying red lyrium, certainly. She wanted his name and his exact location marked on a very clear map so that she could walk straight up to him and knock him soundly about the head and neck with her staff. But now she owed Gaspard nothing, and moreover, he was now in her debt - not that he in reality wasn’t already. He was only on the throne because of her, because of the Inquisition. And tonight, she owed him nothing. 

What she owed herself, however… 

A bubble of joy swelled up in her chest and she quickly excused herself from a conversation with the Marquis of Some Damn Place or Other when she caught sight of the commander looking pained, trapped in dialogue - which was more like a monologue - with a tall, slender young man whose mask obscured less of his narrow face than seemed traditional. Perhaps it was supposed to be risque. She snagged a glass of wine from a passing servant and downed it in one gulp, clutching the stem as she took wide strides to reach Cullen.

“If you’ll excuse me, sirrah,” she said to the man, cutting him off mid-sentence, “I fear I must speak to my commander regarding a matter of utmost importance.” She handed the empty wine glass to the now baffled man and grabbed Cullen by the elbow, spiriting him away.

“Evelyn,” the commander said in a rough whisper once they were out of earshot, “where are we going?”

“Anywhere we want, Commander,” she said, turning back to him with a grin, “I’ve had just about enough of this Game. I seem to recall there being a library around here,” she thought outloud, and pulled him toward a dark corner where there was a short staircase that lead to a blue door.

“What in the Maker’s name do you need from the library?” he breathed as she jiggled the knob and found it unlocked. Evelyn ushered him through and closed the door behind him. Suddenly the noise from the ballroom receded and all that was left behind was a gentle melody, almost tuneless in its distance, that floated up from the musicians below.

“Peace and quiet,” Evelyn said, flopping down into the nearest claw-footed chair.

“Leliana will never let you hear the end of this,” said Cullen, walking to her side and leaning up against the chair.

Evelyn waved the thought away with her hand. “Once she finds out Gaspard never intended to give us any real information -”

“Somehow I think that was in her contingency plan,” Cullen muttered. 

“Have you told her?”

Cullen shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Not in so many words, but I shared with her my suspicion that we’d made a mistake in coming here, and she gave me… that look.”

Evelyn knew that look well; the look that said, “Just because you aren’t getting a straight answer doesn’t mean you’re not getting an answer.” Evelyn hated that look. She hate the deceit that went along with it, and at the same time, it made her all the more grateful for the spymaster and her twisted sense of humor. Without Leliana, the Inquisition would no doubt be floundering in a merciless sea of bloodthirsty nobles. Leliana made them toothless.

“Well, then she can’t very well blame me for bailing out.”

“But she will.”

“We can worry about that in the morning, when we leave this dreadful place,” Evelyn insisted.

There was a pause, and then Cullen asked, “If you only wanted peace and quiet, why did you drag me along with you?”

Was he being intentionally dense, Evelyn wondered, or had she read him entirely wrong? She drummed her fingers on the dark wood arms of the chair and looked up at him sternly, until his own serious expression cracked into a weak smile.

“Well, then, fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, though her own lips tilted upward in response to his, “you can go back out there and talk to Lord So and So again. I’ll just be here, enjoying not being harassed by nobility.” She made a show of leaning back even further in her chair and waving him away with a limp-wristed hand, but Cullen reached out and grabbed her extended arm, tugging her up and out of the seat and pulling her toward the door.

“I think not, Inquisitor. If I’m going out there, you’re coming with me,” and he used his considerable weight to drag her a few more steps as she tugged back, a laugh rising up and out of her despite her best efforts to play along, the vibrations of her giggles weakening her stance and sending her feet skidding toward him as he continued to tug.

Sensing her resistance slackening, Cullen turned toward her and with a sharp jerk of his arm, pulled Evelyn against his chest, wrapping his free left arm around her middle. The smile he gave her now was not unsure or shy. It was confident, daring, heated. The warmth that had colored Evelyn’s cheeks in the carriage returned, welcome this time. She allowed Cullen’s hand to remain grasping the arm he had used to pull her out of the chair, and snaked the other around his middle. In the sudden silence, the music from the ballroom floated up again.

He leaned in, the smile on his lips unflinching, until their noses nearly touched. “May I have this dance?”

Evelyn nodded her head in assent. Cullen’s hand went from her forearm down to twine in her fingers, and he began to sway in a gentle back and forth, one-two-three, one-two-three, and the Inquisitor allowed her commander to lead her across the floor in slow, steady steps.

In the dark of the library, Evelyn closed her eyes and let her fingers splay wide on the back of Cullen’s neck, the tips of them touching the curled ends of his short blond hair. He held her tight with the arm that encircled her, and as the soft music slowed to a stop, her eyelids flicked open. His smile was softer now.

“I’d like to kiss you, Inquisitor,” he said in a whisper.

“I’d let you, Commander.”


	7. The Kiss

He pressed his lips to hers slowly, as though wanting to savor this, the first moment, and he felt his lungs rebel as though he slowly needed much more air than just what was around them, felt his head becoming light.

Evelyn let go of his hand and brought both of hers to the back of his head, slowly working her fingers into his coarse, curly hair as his own hands went to the small of her back, pulling her in to close even the smallest distance between them. She took his bottom lip between both of hers, and she felt him quake, if only for an instant, and it brought forth from her a small groan of delight.

Cullen drew away, sucking in a long, deep breath. He let his forehead rest against hers and the heat in his skin made his desire evident even as he forced out the words, “We’ve been away a while. We should…”

Squeezing shut her eyes, Evelyn wanted to tell him no, that they should stay here in this dark, unoccupied space, and that he should kiss her again, and again. Instead, she bit down hard on the insides of her cheeks before sighing, “I suppose we should.”

Slowly, as though untangling a knot in a delicate chain, she pulled out and away from him, turning to go so that she did not change her mind.

“Inquis - Evelyn,” she heard him say, felt his hand touch her shoulder, and then his lips brushed her temple, the top of her ear. 

She reached up and squeezed his gloved hand. “Cullen,” she said, and tore herself away.


	8. Let Them Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the Void with my reputation.

Evelyn sat on the edge of a bed that was not hers, clicking the fingernails of her middle fingers against the fingernails of her thumbs. She had tossed the form-fitting jacket over the back of a chair and turned all of the lamps in the room down to the barest hint of a flame. She told herself to rest, but her mind kept turning. She had sat down to take off her boots and had never moved to unlace them.

The feeling of Cullen’s lips still lingered on hers. It was pleasant - more than pleasant. It was pleasurable. She ran her tongue over them and clicked her fingernails again.

Why did she have to be here? Now? The walls of this palace had ears; even having been in the library alone with her commander had been a stupid move. 

Stupid, and delicious. Every moment.

He had been a templar, she reminded herself, had been the symbol of everything she hated about her confinement, her oppression. What did she see in him? Was it only the strong cut of his jaw, the wide set of his shoulders, the smooth tenor of his voice? Or was it the way he looked at her, the way he respected her - not just her position in the Inquisition, but her - and the way he had thrown off his own confinement, the confines of that very same Templar Order?

Evelyn felt her eyes narrow. She was overthinking this. What she knew was that she wanted him, and he, blessedly, wanted her back.

And here she was, stuck in the one place where anyone would care about that. Where they whispered about arranged marriages to nobility for both the commander and the Inquisitor without regard for what either she or Cullen might have thought about it.

With one last decisive flick of her nails, Evelyn stood, and went for the door.

Let the walls listen, she decided. She reached for her jacket.

 

...

She rapped quickly and quietly on Cullen’s door, then turned around quickly, watching either end of the hall with darting eyes. She hadn’t bothered with the silver buttons on her jacket and she fidgeted nervously with them until she heard his hand on the knob, and she turned back.

“Inquisitor..?” he asked, blinking wearily. He must have been getting ready for bed, or already there; the commander wore only a thin cotton shirt, open in a V at the neck, and black linen breeches, loose on his legs but tight on his ankles. The room was mostly dark, but a lamp was still lit on his bedside table, just enough to see him by. 

Gripping him around his middle, she pushed him back into his room and shut the door as softly as she could bare to behind her, before pressing her lips hard to his, squeezing his sides tightly, feeling the shape of his body beneath the fabric of his shirt. She felt the tension melt out of him and his whole stance seemed to change as he took her upper arms in his grasp, pushing her up against the wooden door behind her. She hit it with a thud, and the sudden sound made them pause, made Cullen pull his lips away from hers.

“Evelyn -”

But she only shushed him and kissed him again, allowing him to push hard against her, her back supported by the door as she returned the pressure. She worked her hands under the cotton of his shirt and for the first time felt the heat of his skin on her hands, running her palms from his hips to under his arms, wanting to know every inch of his flesh with her fingers. She felt him stiffening against her and her eyelids fluttered as her fingertips bit into him just under her his shoulder blades, but he broke from her once more.

“Ev, this is a risk. I - Maker’s breath, I want this - but here? Now? Your reputation…”

She took his hands in hers, and brought his fingers to the cold metal clasps on the front of her bodice. “I appreciate the concern, Commander, but I’m not here to put on a show for these people.” She manipulated his fingers until the first clasp was separated. “I came here because I was promised information. I didn’t get it. I’ll get it some other way.” With his hands, the second clasp came undone. “I don’t need anything from Orlais, and quite frankly, its emperor still needs me. To the Void with my reputation. The only thing I need right now?” She dropped the pitch, the volume of her voice, speaking with her lips a hair’s breadth from his, “Is this.” And she kissed him long and slow and deep.

His fingers curled around the two open clasps of her bodice, made tight fists around the cloth, and with a fierce tug, he ripped the fabric apart at the seams. 


	9. Don't Tempt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not in my wildest dreams...

Evelyn gasped and reached her hands up to make fists in Cullen’s unruly hair, kissing him roughly as the split bodice fell away from her body and onto the floor. His hands found the bare skin of her back, of her belly, of her breasts, and he gathered one in each palm, feeling Evelyn’s brown nipples stiffen at his touch, feeling her heart rate leap in speed, and she pulled her lips from his only to lift his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground next to her ruined blue garment. He took her waist in his hands and pulled her to bed, throwing her onto the duvet and climbing over her body.

He was thrumming like a plucked lute string. In his mind, he’d done this more than once, on more than one late and lonely evening. But she - she was a mage, and he could never; and she was the Inquisitor, and he  _ should _ never… Oh, but when she brushed past him, gave him that gentle nudge, that wicked smile, he was hopeless. He was lost.

There could be consequences for this. Almost certainly would be.

But Evelyn lay below him now, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair, her red-brown mane spilling out on the golden blankets, her grey eyes imploring him not to stop, her red, swollen lips parted and glossy.

He brought his mouth to the smooth curve of her belly, kissing the soft skin below her navel and he felt her squirm with delight. His fingers reached for the laces of her boots, and he sat back on the mattress, slowly, teasingly pulling the laces free on one and then the other, letting the soft leather shoes fall to the ground as she quietly pleaded for him to hurry, kicking her feet playfully once they were free of her boots, her stockings. 

Cullen slid a hand under her back and pulled her jacket off with the other, freeing pale, slender arms from soft, blue fabric, kissing the skin of her shoulders, her collarbones, the small curve of her breasts as her own fingers reached for the laces of his breeches, tightened as they were over the curve of his stiffened cock.

“Tell me, Commander,” she said against his cheek as she pulled the string that 

unwound the knotted laces, her voice low and rough. “Is this how you saw this going?”

“Not in my wildest dreams.”

“Not even the very wildest?”

His jaw worked wordlessly as she pushed him back a bit and slipped the waist of his pants down past his hips, taking his stiff organ in her grip.

Cullen kissed her to push her down once more against the bed, and she released him. He pulled off his own breeches and worked his thumbs into the waistband of hers, pulling pants and undergarments off in one swift motion. 

“Don’t tempt me, Inquisitor,” he growled, lowering himself down to kiss her calves, the backs of her knees, the hot insides of her thighs, feeling her tremble at his touch.

With a quicker, breathier voice she answered, “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

He reached up and grabbed her hips, pulling her down to his level and leaning forward so that their eyes were even once more, his knees between hers. “Well,” he said, and kissed her quickly, “it worked.”

One open palm pressed beside her head for balance, he took his organ in the other and pushed himself down and into her. Evelyn gasped beneath him, her eyes squeezing shut and fists grasping the silky comforter tightly, releasing it only to grab his shoulders when she brought her knees up beside his hips and rocked her own body against him, urging him deeper as she softly muttered, “Yes…”

Closing his eyes, he bit his lip and worked himself in and out of her, slowly, cautiously at first, as though afraid he might hurt her, but when she returned his every action with one of her own, answering his groans with small cries of delight, he quickened his pace, lifted himself up from her belly and took her waist in his hands. He felt himself throb, swell inside her, and she smiled widely with an open mouth, putting her hands behind her head and arching her back into a bridge as he came up onto his knees, she just on her shoulders, her toes; but his hands were strong enough that she hardly even needed to balance. Using arms and hips alike now, he pushed himself into her, drew slowly back out. Sweat ran from temples as he moved and his eyelids fluttered in the half light, open barely enough to watch Evelyn take her hair into her hands, tipping her head back, back as she moaned and curved until her chin pointed to the ceiling. She wrapped her legs around him, using her thighs to hold him within her, slowing him down, savoring every action of his body against hers for as long as she could.

His breath came harder now, fingers biting into the soft flesh around her hips, and he felt himself start to shake, to need more than want, and he roughly uttered her name, feeling her tighten around him.

She answered his cry with her own - or tried, gasping out the first syllable of his name before the words caught in her chest and for an instant her whole body locked, until her breath came back to her in a sharp inhalation, then freed itself in a wordless, trembling moan.

Catching her around her middle and lowering her back down to the blankets once more, Cullen fought against the waves of her release, fought to stay inside of her just a little longer, and he balanced on shaking arms, head bowed, chin to his chest as he took in a deep breath, feeling suddenly as though a knot had come undone inside of himself and he pulled himself from within her, up and over, his seed spilling from him, pooling in the gentle curve of her belly, and he held himself there, breaths hard and sharp, until he had no more, could hold himself no longer, and he fell beside Evelyn, his head resting on her outstretched arm.

They lay there in silence for a few moments, catching their breath, heartbeats slowing, slick skin cooling in the still air. Then Evelyn turned her head to look at Cullen, his eyes closed and lips open in an expression of perfect contentment, his shoulder nestled against her side, and from her chest came a full, satisfied laugh.


	10. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have to borrow your shirt.

Evelyn let a few minutes pass before she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It took her a moment for her trembling legs to find her footing on the floor, but she did, and went to the small table in the corner of the guest room that held a washbasin and a few cloths. 

Cullen propped himself up on an elbow as she cleaned up, finding himself unable to do much more than grin, but he forced himself to reach over to lower the lamp on the bedside table.

“Mm, hold on,” Evelyn said, her eyes scanning the floor, falling on her ruined bodice. “Let me… well, I’m going to have to borrow your shirt,” she muttered, and reached for her underwear and stockings.

“Wait,” said Cullen, reaching for her. “Stay.”

She looked at him with an amused smile, before bending over the side of the bed and kissing him gently. “I can’t stay, don’t be ridiculous,” she answered, and quickly went back to dressing.

He watched her as she pulled his own white shirt over her head and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “But I thought -”

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, resting on the side of the bed as she tugged on her boots and laced them haphazardly, avoiding his gaze. No, she couldn’t stay. Not here, not in the Winter Palace, absolutely not. She didn’t care what the nobles thought… but… 

Well, but what?

No, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stay. Shouldn’t stay. This was all… she wanted? Needed? She wasn’t sure, wasn’t in the right place to suss it out right now, but it was all she had come here for.

But Cullen reached out and gave her arm one last squeeze, asking her wordlessly one last time not to go. She only reached out and turned down the wick on his lamp until it was extinguished. Evelyn went softly to the door, pulling it open.

“Sweet dreams, Commander,” she said to him, and let herself out into the dimly-lit hall.

He let himself fall back against the now-cool sheets, feeling more lonely now than he had before.


	11. Worse People Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m well aware of your, shall we say, extracurriculars.

Evelyn woke up in the dim morning light, Cullen’s shirt tangled up around her. With sleep-shut eyes, she groaned and pulled at the white fabric that clung to her before remembering where the oversized shirt had come from and she took a handful of it, bringing it to her face and emitting a small, content sigh as she pushed her nose against the cotton. She rolled over, nestling her cheek against the large shirt and pulling it up and away from herself slightly as she mumbled the commander’s name into the cloth.

From across the room, she heard someone clear their throat.

Evelyn sat bolt upright in bed, jerking the shirt back down over her stomach. In the chair in the corner of her guest room sat Leliana, dressed in her familiar spymaster’s cloak. She sat with her arms and legs crossed and bore a stern look on her face.

“Well, I certainly hope you had a good time last night.”

One hand still pressed to her chest, heart thumping in her chest from surprise, Evelyn sputtered, “Leliana! What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you, it would seem.” She cocked one coppery eyebrow at Evelyn, who was still clinging to Cullen’s shirt for dear life. The Inquisitor looked down at the garment.

“This - I - uh, I can explain this, you see, I -”

“No need, Inquisitor. I’m well aware of your, shall we say, extracurriculars.” And she gave Evelyn a smile that was small and sweet and nothing more. Leliana stood. “In fact, I only came to wake you. And to let you know,” she adjusted her robe and pulled the hood back from her head, “that I made sure none of the palace’s staff knew overmuch about your little rendezvous with the commander last night,” and here she shared with Evelyn the kind of smile that made the Inquisitor blush, “though I have to tell you, more than one of them commented on, shall we say, the commander’s performance. At least, from what they could hear.” Evelyn looked away, her face beet red. “But I don’t think they’ll be bothered to talk. Come now, you should get dressed. We’ll be leaving within the hour.” She reached out for the doorknob, but turned back to the blushing Inquisitor. “I just wanted to say that… I’m sure you know as well as I do that at the very least, this would be a desirable topic of gossip, especially in this part of Thedas… but there certainly are worse people with whom you could pass an evening, Inquisitor.” Leliana opened the door what seemed like an inch and slipped out and into the shadows.

Evelyn released her grip on the thin cotton shirt, her whole body seeming to wake up all at once. She worked the sleep-tangles from her hair and twisted part of it into a short, loose braid as she pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor, quickly going to her luggage to find clothes and dress, tingles running all through her as she thought on Leliana’s words, on the time she had spent with the commander.

Yes. There were worse people, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little heads up, these chapters might start coming a little slower now as I'm working on some extracurriculars (no not like thaaaaaat): I'm having a big big big project of mine from NaNoWriMo beta read (and I'll be posting that up as well, under the title Inquisition, Indiana, and yes, it is Dragon Age, and yes, there is smooching), and I have a few other real-life things to take care of. But I know how I want this story to proceed, so there is more, but it'll be a little slower-going.


	12. We'll Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cullen, last night…”

Their coaches were waiting out in the garden, and the gate to the entrance was open to allow their departure. Cullen was waiting near a carriage, and Cassandra stood by, looking surly and tired. Leliana and Josephine stood beside the other, chattering softly in the morning air. The sun had come over the horizon and had bathed the whole garden in a warm, molten glow. 

Evelyn let her eyes alight on the commander, watching him as she walked, and waiting for his own gaze to turn to her, turning her own head as though changing her own point of view would make his change too.

Finally, his eyes settled on her as she walked toward him, and he caught sight of the folded white square she had tucked under her arm as she slowly approached him, trying to beckon him to her and away from the rest of her companions without any kind of obvious sign. Slowly, his feet began to draw him toward her, just as she reached the bottom of the palace stairs.

His face seemed almost sad, his steps hesitant.

“Inquisitor,” he said skeptically. 

Her eyes darted to Josephine and Cassandra, and to Leliana, who bore on her own face a knowing smile before her gaze flicked back to Josephine.

“We should get moving soon,” Cullen said, glancing down to the white bundle. 

She took a step closer to him, and he started to back away, but held his ground. “Cullen,” she said softly, and she held the white fabric out to him: his shirt.

His lips pressed thin, and he took the shirt from her quickly, looking away and starting to turn.

“No -” she said, louder than she would have liked. “No, wait.” Evelyn touched his sleeve. “I…”

He turned back, blinking quickly, frustration now more than evident on his face. Frustration with her, she wondered? “What is it, Inquisitor.” His voice was hard, cold in front of the others.

“Cullen, last night…” she paused, swallowing hard, trying to speak with a clear if quiet voice, a straight voice, “was…” It was her turn to blink, to look away. “Last night was incredible,” she said in one soft, solid word, no breaths or spaces.

His expression changed, the frustration slowly melting away. “Evelyn…”

Behind him, the horses whinnied, and Leliana called, “Inquisitor, come. We have much we should discuss, yes?”

Evelyn gave Cullen a weak smile and said, “Looks like I’m riding with them. She touched him on the arm and began to walk past him to the coaches, where Leliana and Josephine were beckoning her. 

The commander reached out his hand quickly and caught her by the elbow, asking in an unsure voice, “We can talk later?”

Evelyn’s eyes went wide with concern, her brows furrowing. “Of course we can - why would you -” but she stopped herself, and suddenly it became clear. She had left him when he had asked her to stay, but… had he thought… “Cullen, yes,” she assured him, laying her hand on top of the one of his that gripped her elbow. “Of course. We’ll talk.”

An ease appeared now in eyes, and he let her go, let her slide into the carriage next to the ambassador and opposite the spymaster.

The whole ride back, Cullen had a smile he couldn’t wipe from his face. 


	13. Get In Here, You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That,” Evelyn said, setting her cup down and nudging it aside to avoid tipping it over when she bent forward to speak to him, “is not at all what I intended when I left your room last night. Especially not… after last night.”

When the Inquisitor arrived at Skyhold, her head was throbbing. Leliana seemed to have been able to ferret out all sorts of wicked and wild information from the nobles, all, of course, except for what nobleman they would have to take on to stop the chain of red lyrium from reaching the tainted templars. But she had gotten names of the men receiving the shipments, and it could be traced back from there. 

And it would be work. 

Blowing out a sigh through round lips, rolling her head on her shoulders, Evelyn trudged slowly up the stairs to Skyhold’s keep. What she needed was wine, possibly lots of it, and definitely as soon as possible. She had a bottle of Rowan’s Rose stashed in her quarters, and she meant to drink it all, to wash the taste of Orlais out of her mouth.

Evelyn had her hand on the door to her room when from behind her she heard soft footfalls. Exasperated from the journey back, she whipped around, crossing her arms in a defensive gesture before her eyes found Cullen’s soft brown ones.

“Get in here, you,” and she flung her door open, ushering him inside with an anxious wave of her hand. He flashed a toothy grin and obeyed.

* * *

 

“Alright,” she said, pouring a cup of wine for him, and one for herself, sitting perched on the edge of her desk.

“Alright?” he answered.

She didn’t respond until she had drunk half of her cup. “It has come to my attention that you thought I was casting you off.”

He tried to think of something to say, opening his mouth, but instead he closed it again and sat down in her desk chair, looking up at her. He took a long drink of his own.

“That,” Evelyn said, setting her cup down and nudging it aside to avoid tipping it over when she bent forward to speak to him, “is not at all what I intended when I left your room last night. Especially not… after last night.”

“Indeed?” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her. He sat back in the chair and, placing his cup on the desk, folded his arms in front of his chest.

“I -” she frowned then. “No, you talk,” she said, pushing the conversation back to him, waving the backs of her hands at him.

The smugness left his face, if only a bit. “I am not unfamiliar with being used, Evelyn. If last night were all you had wanted…” He looked away. 

Evelyn picked up her legs and sat cross-legged on the desk now, bending toward him imploringly. “No, Cullen, no. I never meant to use you, I - I thought you wanted…”

“Andraste’s ashes, Evelyn, I did, I do,” he said, sitting forward quickly, putting his hands on the arms of the chair. A smile lit up on her face and he hurriedly reached for his wine, slugging down a large gulp.

When he pulled the cup away from his mouth, she reached out to circle her hands around his, still holding the cup. “I have no desire to use you. I want nothing less. I just…” She closed her eyes, let him go, and put her feet on the floor. She knelt in front of him, resolving now not to mince her words. “You and I are young… alright, younger, healthy people. We… get along. We can talk to each other. You… you make me laugh. We’re clearly physically compatible. And we’re out here in the ass-end of nowhere being constantly assailed by shit that no one person should ever have to deal with. So… maybe we could deal with it together? I don’t - I’m not saying that means anything. For us. As… anything. I’m not saying this will go anywhere. But I wouldn’t mind terribly if maybe you’d warm my bed.”

He put his cup back down and reached for her hands, pulling her in close as he stood up in front of her heavy desk chair. Holding both her hands in one of his, he put the other on the side of her face and leaned down for a kiss. She returned it eagerly, but when he pulled away, he said, “I know this won’t be easy. I know this could be difficult for the Inquisition. But when you didn’t stay, I…”

She shook her head. “I… perhaps I was afraid. You were right. We were already taking a risk in Halamshiral. Apparently Leliana did a bit of damage control…” she laughed softly.

“And… here?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but gave him a daring smile. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“It’s going to be like that, is it?” he returned her grin.

“And what if it is?”

His fingers gave her hands a tight squeeze. “Then I’ll just have to make you want to stay.”


	14. Perfectly Capable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana folded her arms and leaned back against her table in the rookery. It was strewn with papers, piled high; the value of the information on that rough-hewn surface, Evelyn couldn’t even begin to imagine. “It is his prerogative, Inquisitor, and we are in his territory.”

“Oh, come on, Leliana, please,” Evelyn whined. “Why does he have to come? You know we’re perfectly capable of doing this on our own…”

Leliana folded her arms and leaned back against her table in the rookery. It was strewn with papers, piled high; the value of the information on that rough-hewn surface, Evelyn couldn’t even begin to imagine. “It is his prerogative, Inquisitor, and we are in his territory.”

“His - We  _ gave _ him that territory! You know, I could have up and decided  _ I _ wanted to be the emperor of Orlais, and what then?” she made a disgusted noise, throwing her fists down at her sides like a child and turning away from the spymaster.

Evelyn could hear the flatness in Leliana’s voice as the Orlesian woman said, “You would have incited civil war -”

“I know that,” the Inquisitor huffed, and turned slowly back to Leliana, the top half of her body limp and unwilling. “Lelianaaaaaa,” she moaned, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

It was such a pathetic sight that the spymaster could only laugh. She reached out her arms and took the Inquisitor in a comforting embrace. “Do not fret, Inquisitor. Gaspard only wants to seem impressive - and to say that he was there when the lyrium smuggling operation was shut down. He’ll more than likely stay out of your way and let you do all the dirty work. I know that that’s your favorite,” she held the Inquisitor away from her but held her arms still and gave the woman a little wink. “Take Varric with you,” the spymaster suggested. “He always seems to lift your spirits.”

Well, that much wasn’t untrue. She and the dwarf shared a certain sort of commiseration that ensured each always tolerated, even enjoyed, the other’s company. But it wasn’t necessarily uplifting for either party.

Which perhaps was exactly what she needed right now. The longer this game went on, the less she wanted to deal with it. She had the sneaking suspicion that Varric wouldn’t try and put her off of her disdain.

“Alright, Leliana. But I’m getting awfully tired of this run-around.”

The spymaster only shook her head and went back to her papers.


	15. Yes, But I Might

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dorian!” Evelyn said, mock-offended. “I would never!”

Stalking gloomily down from the rookery, Evelyn stuffed her hands in the pockets  of her pants and tucked her chin to her chest, letting her hair fall in her face. She should get everyone together at the war table, and soon. Make plans to finally nip this problem in the bud. They would have to go the Emprise du Lion to find these smugglers, and from there, they could stop the lyrium at the source.

“Chin up, friend,” came the directive of a smooth voice from the recesses of the library.

Evelyn did exactly that, looking to her right to find Dorian propped up against a bookcase with an open codex in his hand, though he was no longer looking at the words on the page but at the sulking Inquisitor.

“Hey, Dorian,” Evelyn grumbled as the mage closed his book and beckoned her over.

Dorian stood up straight, seeing Evelyn’s distress, and tucked the book against his hip, offering her his full attention. “What’s the matter?”

“Gaspard,” she mumbled, and propped herself on one of the bookcases next to him.

“Ah,” he said, needing no further explanation. “It’s like that, is it?”

Evelyn took a breath, grateful for the sympathy, even as she realized: “It could be worse, I know. He’s offering us help, he’s just doing it in the most roundabout way a person could conceive of helping. And he’s insisting on coming with us to catch the smugglers in the Emprise.”

Dorian gave a half-grin and cocked an eyebrow. “That’s The Game for you.”

“I have never in my life been happier to be a Marcher than I have in these past few days.” Her upbringing had certainly been nothing like all sunshine and daisies, but at least she came by her nobility honestly, instead of in this backhanded way.

“Well, look at this way,” Dorian offered, “If the Emperor were to, say, accidentally get hit in the back of the head with a blast of ice, you could always blame the weather in that horrible place.”

“Dorian!” Evelyn said, mock-offended. “I would never!”

“Yes, but I might,” and he gave her a conspiratorial wink.

“You wanna come? I know you hate the cold…”

“That I do, Inquisitor. But I’d hate even more to see you stuck there without a friend in the world.”

Evelyn let her face fall. “Yes, look at me, friendless and alone,” she said flatly. “I was thinking of bringing Varric along.”

“Joy of joys,” Dorian said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Now all we need is Cassandra and it’ll be a real party.”


	16. Let's Get to Work, Shall We?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Emperor,” Evelyn began cautiously, “I cannot offer you any insight into what has happened here, regardless of what you think of my power or my… people.”

It was freezing in Emprise du Lion.

Evelyn sat on the back of her horse, blowing into her hands as stoically as possible, keeping her auburn hair well over her ears to keep the cold off. There was no snow falling; in fact, the sky was a bright, blinding blue, and the sunlight reflected off of the icy white ground with a vicious intensity that made the Inquisitor squint against the glare.

Gaspard rode up beside her, looking twice as dignified as she felt. “They say it was magic that froze the river,” he said, staring off into the distance at the shining band of silver that was once a waterway reflecting in the sun. The Inquisitor made a noncommittal noise and wrung her hands for warmth. There wasn’t enough heat in her brain for her to play The Game right now.

“You disagree?” the emperor asked, trying to catch Evelyn’s gaze.

“I don’t know enough to be sure,” she answered, which was the truth.

“I only ask because it seems you have some command over the cold yourself,” Gaspard went on.

“Emperor,” Evelyn began cautiously, “I cannot offer you any insight into what has happened here, regardless of what you think of my power or my… people.”

“I meant no offense, Inquisitor. I’m only seeking any information I can get about the misfortune that plagues these people.”

“Indeed,” said Dorian, as he pulled his own steed up alongside the Inquisitor and emperor. “Well, I can tell you this much,” the Tevinter offered. “This almost certainly was not the work of a single unaided mage, if indeed it’s the work of a mage at all. Anyway, I believe we have some smugglers to find, and I think I speak for our dear Inquisitor when I say that it is bloody freezing here and we’d like to leave as soon as possible, so let’s get to work, shall we?” He flicked the reins of his horse and headed down into the valley.

Evelyn swiveled around in her saddle and saw Cassandra and Varric some distance back, bickering with each other as Varric struggled to keep control of his own mount. The dwarf was still less than used to horses and when his full attention was not devoted to the beast - which it certainly was not now - the animals tended to get away from him. Evelyn could not make out the words that were passing between the Seeker and the dwarf, but she heard Cassandra raising her voice as Varric began to laugh and his mount slowly listed to the left.

Clicking at her charger, Evelyn rode forward, following Dorian and leaving Gaspard behind.


	17. Pardon Me While I Freeze to Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was wondering if after this you might not join me for a celebratory feast?”

The smuggler’s trail led them into a copse of leafless trees. As the sky above them began to darken, the snowy ground, the reaching branches took on a deeply menacing tone as the color shifted from white to gold to late evening blue, and the air around them grew noticeably colder which Evelyn hadn’t previously thought was possible. Her hood was already up but she pulled it farther over her face as she lead her horse into a small clearing. When everyone had pulled up behind her, the silence was deafening. The horses wuffled and whinnied and kicked up snow with their hooves, but all of the sound seemed to be consumed by the soft, omnipresent snow. It had begun to fall again, only lightly, and only in fine, misty flakes, but the effect it gave was that the whole area around their little clearing was surrounded by a thin, cold fog. 

“Perhaps we should light a fire,” Cassandra said, her voice as quiet as Evelyn had ever heard it. 

“No,” said Gaspard. “If there are smugglers near, the smoke or flames will lead them right to us.”

“Great,” said Varric, looking at the distance between his saddle and the ground, “Pardon me while I freeze to death.”

“I hate to agree with the dwarf, but I agree with the dwarf,” said Dorian, shifting uncomfortably.

“We can at least rest,” Evelyn allowed. “Stretch your legs. Take care of your horses.” She unwrapped her own reigns from around her wrists and slid to the ground, leading her charger to a tree where she could tie it up.

She had just attached the feedbag to the steed and was stretching out her sore back when Gaspard approached her.

“Inquisitor,” he said, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping around quickly to face him.

“Emperor,” she said, clutching a hand to her chest as she tried to slow her heartbeat. 

“I was wondering if after this you might not join me for a celebratory feast?”

Evelyn pressed her lips thin, pulling back her hood to shake off the snow that was collecting there, to gather her hair up in her hands and tug it away from her face. “Gaspard, you’re assuming that there will be anything to celebrate.” When he opened his mouth to object, she cut him off. “Look, I’d love to say yes, but can you at least wait until we’re out of the cold to force me back into this bleeding Game?” she ran her gloved fingers up and down her steed’s soft snout, petting on top of its head and between its eyes as the beast ate.

Gaspard smiled, his cheeks lifting the soft mask on his face. The mask he wore now was nowhere near as elaborate as the one he wore at the Winter Palace, and for good reason - the glinting metal of his usual adornments might be dangerously cold on his face in this climate. Now, he wore only a carefully embroidered band of black and gold that reached from his cheekbones to the small creases on his forehead, with ovals cut out to show his green eyes. “You misunderstand me, Inquisitor Trevelyan. I have no desire to perpetuate that nonsense in my own personal life. At court, it is necessary. Orlais will not change because I detest the deception the very idea of The Game implies. And, I would be remiss if I did not admit that it is terribly useful every now and again. But no - I mean to invite you personally to share a meal with me, to… thank you for your assistance in this time of recent upheaval.”

“You mean for seating you on the throne?” she wanted to say, but instead she answered, “I appreciate the offer, Gaspard. But it is my advisors who truly deserve the thanks, and if you’ll forgive my saying so, I think that they,” she thought of Cullen, “might have had their share of… traveling for a while.”

“Your dedication to your Inquisition is admirable, Inquisitor,” Gaspard said, tugging off one of his gloves to reach out and run his hand across the coarse hair of Evelyn’s horse, rubbing the charger along its ribs. He gave the beast a firm but careful pat on its side and took a step closer to Evelyn. “But what I mean to ask is if you will share a meal with me.” He dropped his voice down so that Evelyn had to strain to hear it over the wind that wove its way in between the trunks of trees. “I’m sure you’re aware that your marriage prospects are the topic du jour in Halamshiral. You come from a noble house, do you not? An alliance between the Inquisition and Orlais would behoove us both, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn blinked hard. “What -”

“Red templars! In the trees!” Cassandra shouted, drawing her blade.

Evelyn’s jaw was still hanging open and even as Gaspard reached for his own sword, it took her a breath to realize she should retrieve her staff from the back of her horse. 

The trees began to rustle and shake the snow from their limbs as soldiers in suits of armor pushed past the trunks, the metal on their bodies clanking in the quiet night. The horses nickered and Evelyn’s charger raised up on its back legs, stopped only when the reins that she had knotted to a branch forced it back down again. Gaspard backed away, lifting his sword high into the air.

“Whoa, boy,” she said softly, patting the horse on its flank as she pulled her staff free and pulled herself into the middle of the clearing, facing the trees, so that she and her companions all formed a small circle facing outward toward the templars.

“Well,” said Dorian, “it looks like we’ve found the smugglers.”


	18. You Know What to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This was a trap,” she said under her breath, the hot air escaping in a puff of white. “We walked right into it,” her dark eyes fixed on Gaspard.

The templars surrounded them, coming from all sides into the clearing. Evelyn  and her companions backed up until their shoulders touched, waiting for some signal to move, to draw. On her right, Evelyn could hear Cassandra grinding her teeth. 

“This was a trap,” she said under her breath, the hot air escaping in a puff of white. “We walked right into it,” her dark eyes fixed on Gaspard, on the other side of Evelyn.

“You think I -” hissed the Emperor. “I was only using the information I had received from my sources!” 

“I think you were too stupid to know when you were being lead on!” Cassandra said, her voice growing in volume and pitch. “If you had given us the information -”

“We still would have had to come out here to take care of this, Cassandra,” Evelyn shot. “But we might have been more prepared, Gaspard,” she turned back.

“I’m gonna go ahead and say we’ve got more pressing matters to deal with,” said Varric, hoisting Bianca up to his shoulder. 

“Yes, I’m inclined to agree,” Dorian murmured. 

Evelyn’s eyes darted around as the first of the templars stepped out from the treeline and into the clearing.

Keeping her lips as still as possible, Evelyn said, “As soon as he moves, Cassandra.”

“Loud and clear,” the Seeker answered discreetly. 

“Archers,” said Dorian behind them.

“You know what to do,” the Inquisitor answered.

And then, from the darkness, cloaked by the snow, there came a shuddering. A thumping. The horses, tied to their trees, began to chomp nervously, to stomp their hooves, to whimper and cry. The air around them seemed to begin to vibrate, not only with a heaviness, but with a malignance. Evelyn knew that feeling, knew that sense. It was something she had felt for the first time just before Corypheus’ dragon had touched down in Haven. It was the stench of red lyrium. 

“Inquisitor,” she heard Varric say.

“I know, Varric.”

The shuddering became a crashing. There was an electric zap, and the templars nearest to Evelyn parted.

“Behemoth!” Cassandra cried.

The ground beneath Evelyn’s feet began to shake and she leapt out of the way just as a wall of red lyrium rose up from underneath her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hello here's an apology. I've been so focused on Inquisition, Indiana (and I've had stuff to do in real life, which is the worst, amirite) that I've completely forgotten about this. There are a few more chapters in the queue but I've just completely spaced on posting them, so I'll try to get at least those up and I'll also try and write some more... well, right now.
> 
> Thanks to everybody who's still reading, and I promise this will get fluffy again soon. Gotta get the boring plot stuff out of the way. :p


	19. Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gaspard,” she directed her own staff back at the red beast, blasting it with snow as Cassandra rolled out of the way to dodge a blow, “don’t let those two smart-asses get killed, you hear me?”

Shaking the snow from her eyes, Evelyn grabbed for her staff - and found she had dropped it in the snow. She turned to reach for it, rising to her knees, and saw a red templar standing over the white wooden pole with his sword aimed right at the Inquisitor. Evelyn rose slowly to the balls of her feet, balancing herself in a crouch. The templar rushed her, and Evelyn summoned a cold magic through her limbs. She ran at the templar and passed right through him, shocking the soldier through with ice. Skidding to a halt, she reached for her staff now, holding it out at her right side. The templar shook off his icy prison and turned to face the Inquisitor once more, raising his blade, so she drew her own. From the belt at her waist she pulled a slender lazurite handle and in her left hand erupted a glistening golden blade of pure mana, and she pushed forward once more, slashing at the templar with her left hand, forcing him to shield. She struck him once, twice, three times before letting the blade dissolve back into nothing and in a moment of stillness as the soldier lowered his shield, she drew from the cold air a fresh rush of mana and sent a shock of ice through the templar’s body, freezing him solid. Once blast from her staff and the man shattered like glass.

Evelyn turned now to find her fellows, and found Varric and Dorian taking care of the last of the archers, and doing it handily. Gaspard was in his chevalier’s stance, defending the mage and rogue from any additional threats. His reputation for having been a noble fighter clearly had some truth behind it, and Evelyn left him to his own devices. Cassandra, however, stood stony still in front of the lumbering behemoth, waiting for the thing to make a move. The red creature lifted its club-like arm, all angles and spikes, and was about to throw it down onto the Seeker, but she struck a blow in the thing’s crystalline side, then bashed her shield up as close to its face, or what had once been a face, as she could, trying to stun the beast, but it was unphased and only let out a cry like the grinding of rock on rock and reached once more for the Seeker. She deftly backed away.

Evelyn looked up, the snow falling harder now, and she drew on the cold air around her and the cold air within her and brought a storm down on the jagged red thing, distracting it, freezing it, allowing Cassandra to do more damage with each strike. 

Dorian and Varric had successfully felled the archers and were now redirecting their aim at the behemoth as well, while Gaspard tried desperately to settle the horses and keep them from breaking their legs or necks. The animals were used to combat, but the behemoth - whether from the red lyrium or the sheer unfamiliarity of the creature itself - made the beasts want to flee.

Evelyn understood. She wanted to turn and run. Instead, turned her attention on a fresh group of templars that, having seen their comrades fall, rushed them now to add to the fray.

“Reinforcements!” the Inquisitor shouted, and threw up a wall of ice between the templars and her companions, buying them sometime.

“I’m on it,” shouted Varric, and deftly loaded his crossbow with a spray of arrows, firing them all at once, each striking the templars who were too distracted by the frozen barrier to prepare themselves for the bolts.

“Dorian, take these guys! I’ll help Cassandra!” Evelyn ordered, knowing that her ice would be stronger than his fire against the lumbering behemoth.

“I hear you,” he called, and a bolt of flame whizzed past the Inquisitor’s head.

“Gaspard,” she directed her own staff back at the red beast, blasting it with snow as Cassandra rolled out of the way to dodge a blow, “don’t let those two smart-asses get killed, you hear me?”

Evelyn didn’t wait for an answer. She phased through the behemoth and came at it from behind while Cassandra kept its attention from the front. She rematerialized her spirit blade and slashed at the lyrium creature again and again until she was spent, and turned her staff on the creature when she had no more mana to spare.

The behemoth faltered, stuttering forward, and Cassandra used the opportunity to jam her blade as far into the thing’s torso as she could. It was not a fatal blow, but the behemoth was feeling it. 

Encouraged, Evelyn turned away to send a blast of cold toward the templars that Dorian and Varric were fighting -

And from the trees, an arrow struck her hard in the shoulder. It knocked the breath out of her, knocked the staff from her hand, and she went down on one knee just from the shock of it.

“Flames,” she hissed, touching her chest just next to where the arrow had landed.

“Inquisitor!” she heard Cassandra shout.

“I’m fine!” Evelyn called back, reaching for her staff and coming to her feet once more. Through her rage, she found the last templar archer hiding in the trees. The soldier thought he was obscured by the falling snow, but Evelyn’s eyes were keener than that, and she sent burst after burst of frozen magic at the templar until it fell hard to the ground. Bleeding through her robes, the Inquisitor sent up a wall of jagged ice to surround the soldiers that faced Dorian, Varric, and Gaspard, and then materialized her spirit blade once more, tearing faster and faster into the behemoth until it crumbled to its knees, and Cassandra darted out of the way as the beast came down hard where she had been standing. From her right, she heard Varric whoop as the last of the templars fell. 

And then, there was silence. 

The snowfall had increased, and now huge, fluffy white flakes began to pile up significantly on the forest floor. The horses stomped it down and tossed their heads, the beasts as relieved as the people that the fighting was done.

Gaspard was rummaging through the packs of the fallen red templars while Dorian and Varric caught their breath. 

“Yes,” he exclaimed quietly, bringing up a sheet of parchment from the bag of one of the archers. 

“What is it?” Evelyn asked, one hand anxiously gripping the fletching of the arrow that pierced her, the other putting pressure on the wound. She walked slowly to the Emperor’s side. 

“Proof,” he held up the note to show the Inquisitor. “I regret my previous methods. I would have given you more information if I had been certain, but I could not risk wrongly incriminating a member of my court without proof, even if my suspicions were correct. Certainly your spymaster understands.”

Evelyn nodded, regretting her anger at Gaspard for thinking he had only been acting as Orlais expected him to. He still could have stood to be more up front with her, but his reasons were not as shallow as she had suspected, and for that she was glad. “Good,” she answered, her voice thin and tired. “Varric, you hang on to that. Cassandra… pull this fucking arrow out of me, please. I want to go home.” She reached in her pack for a vial of red elixir and quickly slugged it down.


	20. Maker Have Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was sound asleep next to him, and he was in her bed, bundled up under a mountain of blankets and furs to block out the winter air as the fire burnt low in the small hours of the morning.

Cullen awoke with a start from some nameless nightmare, the darkness of the space around him fueling his confusion. This was not his bed, this was not his room. He started to sit up, and then felt a heavy weight on his chest.

Evelyn’s arm. She was sound asleep next to him, and he was in her bed, bundled up under a mountain of blankets and furs to block out the winter air as the fire burnt low in the small hours of the morning. The sharp breath he had drawn in let itself out slowly now, and he shifted, bringing a hand to his heart. Through her sleep, Evelyn made a small sound and reached out, sliding one arm under his neck to draw him in closer, hold him tight, like a sleeping mother cat grasping a mewling kitten. His head rested near her shoulder now, and her lips found a place to rest against the crown of his head. Then she stilled once more, the commander warm against her body.

Cullen felt small in her arms. Safe. Eyes uselessly open in the dark of the room, he felt his eyelids flutter as he grabbed for the hand that reached around his chest. He squeezed it tight, too tight, and he felt her hand flex in his grip, but still she slept. She must be exhausted; Emprise du Lion seemed to have worn her out utterly. From the moment she had walked through the door, throwing the letter retrieved from the body of the templar down on the War Table, Evelyn seemed burdened with an exhaustion that she couldn’t shake. She had spoken to them all quickly, but the speed of her speech belied only her eagerness to stop talking. And Cullen could understand why. Between the cold and her wound and the Emperor’s ridiculous remarks about an alliance between Orlais and the Inquisition, he was sure he would be exhausted too. The eagerness with which she had accepted his proffered hand as they left the War Room, seeming not to care who saw them walk together to her quarters, spoke to her weariness with the whole situation. She had not even objected to Cullen falling asleep in her bed, though perhaps she would have if she had not fallen asleep first. And now as she lie here, quiet, still, clutching him tightly as Cullen rested his head against the curve of her uninjured shoulder, he wanted nothing more than to have been able to go in her place, to protect her from from the hardships that she faced, and would face for weeks or months or years to come. But of course that was ridiculous, was the opposite of the point. Evelyn was the Inquisitor, was the face of this ever-more unwieldy operation, because she was the best one to face these things, to make these choices, and he could not protect her from her title and all that went with it no matter how much he loved -

His thoughts stopped cold.

“Maker have mercy,” he whispered to the blackness.


	21. They Believed in Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here he was, falling in love.

Cullen let himself out of Evelyn’s room that morning without waking her. He needed space to think. Dressing quietly in the chilly space, he listened to Evelyn’s breathing. Her wounded shoulder was exposed above the level of the blankets and in the early dawn light, it looked black and hateful on her pale, freckled skin. He should tell her to see a healer, he thought, but she was a grown woman, and she was a skilled fighter, mage or no. It was not his place to tell her how to care for her injuries, or to dote on her when she came to harm. But Maker, he wanted to.

He rubbed a hand roughly over his sleep-slack face, the stubble sharp on his palm. Yes, he needed space indeed, but before he walked out, he pulled the blankets up to Evelyn’s chin to cover the puncture, let his fingers linger there to push her dark hair away from her face.

He squeezed shut his eyes and turned, walking away from her bed and quickly toward the stairs. 

What was it she had said to him? That they could deal with this together. But she had also made sure to tell him that she didn’t know that this would go anywhere. She had not wanted to make anything of this, had warned him as much. 

And here he was, falling in love.

He shook his head hard and pushed through the door, his feet hitting the stones loudly as he walked back to his own room. He didn’t consider himself to be an enormously clever individual, but he was not stupid, and had had more than his fair share of strange life experiences, in his own opinion. But he couldn’t help but feel as though the place that his heart was leading him right now was the biggest mistake he might make in a long time. 

Out on the battlements, the chill morning air roused his senses, drug him out of his sleepy meditations. Crossing his arms, he leaned over the edge of the stone wall outside of the door to his quarters, and he looked down into the valley where a large swath of people had set up camp. Soldiers, mages, former Chantry sisters, the lot of them, holed up in tents in a snowy valley below Skyhold because they believed. They believed in the Inquisition.

They believed in her.

Something in his chest tightened. There was a whole army of people following Evelyn Trevelyan, either because they believed she was the Herald of Andraste or because they believed in mage liberation or because they believed any of a dozen other impossible things that were said about her, at least half of which were true. She was the frontline in the war against an enemy that no one fully understood. And here he was, mooning over her like a schoolboy. Closing his eyes against the view, he shook his head and reached out his hand to open his chamber door.


	22. Better Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn didn’t care. All she wanted was for the bastard to go down, one way or another. She, of course, preferred her way.

Evelyn sat staring at the invitation. It was so formal. Her whole name and all of her titles were spelled out in gold along the top of the fine, white parchment like some sort of summoning, some invocation that obliged her to respond. All she wanted to do was chuck it in the fire.

Dinner alone with Gaspard. What an absolutely despicable thought. 

She leaned back in her chair and let her eyes drift to the ceiling as she turned the invitation around and around between two fingers and her thumb. She should say no. She should say no and have it be done. There was - obviously, of course - no way that she would even entertain the thought of using her person to forge alliances. It was an archaic idea to begin with and moreover, as far as Evelyn was concerned, she didn’t want Orlais to be allied that closely with the Inquisition anyway. It would close too many other doors. She might hate politics, she thought, but she was not oblivious to them. The reason the Inquisition was as effective of an organization as it was was that it was bound to no allegiance. It was always useful to have friends, but there were certain steps that would be inopportune to take. 

“Inopportune,” however, was not the word Evelyn would have been inclined to use. “Ridiculous,” preceded by a certain conjugal adjective, was closer to what she was thinking.

The Inquisitor let the small gilded piece of paper flutter to her desk. She knew that if she said no outright, it would cause problems of its own. Certainly neither Leliana nor Josephine would deign to encourage such a union, but the might encourage her to attend the dinner and put on her best face as a token of goodwill, since, after all, Gaspard had finally given them the name of the noble who was fronting the lyrium-smuggling operation. 

Alexandre Thibodeaux.

She had never heard the man’s name before, which did not surprise her, given her general distaste for concerning herself in the affairs of others and her multi-year confinement in the Ostwick Circle. And she had never heard of his house, his family, and that was strange, but not completely impossible.

But neither Josephine nor Leliana knew the slightest thing about him, and that was very unusual. They had theories, of course; perhaps he was the first of his family to be raised to nobility. Perhaps his family had done nothing at all noteworthy prior to this particular son making a pact with a darkspawn. There should still be records, of course - Orlesians were meticulous about records, as Josephine’s own ordeal with the Du Paraquettes had proved - but if the family’s nobility was very old or very new, they might take a bit of time to find. And Leliana promised her people were on the case.

Evelyn didn’t care. All she wanted was for the bastard to go down, one way or another. She, of course, preferred her way.

What she was currently faced with, however, was the prospect of another journey out to Halamshiral to wear uncomfortable clothes and to sit with her hands in her lap and smile until she could tell Gaspard that unfortunately she was not interested in forfeiting even a small degree of her personal autonomy to forge an alliance she had no interest in anyway.

Josephine would give her better words.

Evelyn rested her hands on the desk, folding one on top of the other. She rolled her shoulders - the one still stung from the arrow’s bite these few days later but it was nothing she couldn’t handle - and realized that that was more than likely her fate. She would not be sending back a declination. She would accept this invitation, and she wouldn’t even have Cullen there this time for moral support.

Or physical support, and a smile smile crept its way across her lips. She had a better idea.

Evelyn stood up and stretched, leaving the invitation where it lay. Taking long, confident strides, she made her way out into the main hall and took a left, giving Solas a nod as she passed him. Leaving the keep, she walked the battlements until she arrived at Cullen’s door, and she gave the solid, dark wood a firm knock before entering.

The commander glanced up from his paper and his expression quickly shifted from the furrowed brow of concentration to pleasant surprise.

“Inquisitor. How can I help you?” He dropped his pen next to his inkwell and rested his elbows on his desk, taking the opportunity to stretch his back.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Ah… Now that you mention it, no,” he answered, seeming almost abashed.

“Care to join me for dinner?”


	23. Some of Us, at Least

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s all just so much, isn’t it?” She turned to him, spreading out her arms before letting them fall helplessly to her sides. “All this.”

They took the long way back to the Keep, Evelyn pausing to grab an attendant and pass along instructions that she and the commander would be taking supper in her quarters. Cullen walked close to Evelyn, their shoulders nearly touching as the wandered between the parapets. The wind was chilly but not biting, and after Emprise, Skyhold still felt almost balmy to the Inquisitor. Both parties were quiet, Cullen replaying his mediations regarding Evelyn’s position in the grand scheme of things in his mind, Evelyn just pleased to not have to speak. 

They paused at an as-yet unrepaired section of wall, too treacherous to descend certainly in the low evening light and possibly at all. Evelyn closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out as a sigh, putting her fists on her hips.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s all just so much, isn’t it?” She turned to him, spreading out her arms before letting them fall helplessly to her sides. “All this.”

He crossed his arms, but gave her a nod that said he was listening. 

“This is… mine? Ours? I don’t know. I didn’t even want my nobility, let alone all this. I - I hated the Circle, don’t get me wrong, but…” she paused, and turned in a circle, surveying Skyhold, the mountains, the valley, her eyes coming to rest on the commander’s face. “When I was there, I was no one, not really. It was kind of nice to be no one. There’s a freedom in that. No one expects anything of you, no one judges you - well, in theory,” but she shook her head and let the comment go. “Sometimes I think about just walking out of here. Just leaving all this. But I can’t, can I? I’m the only one who can’t, because I’ve got this.” She thrust out her left hand, and in the dim light, it seemed entirely usual. Long, thin fingers with wide knuckles, short fingernails, unkempt but clean, soft palm marked only by the callouses that came from wielding her staff. But under there, in there somewhere, was a piece of something that could shape the world.

Cullen took her one hand in both of his, turned it over, and slowly brought her knuckles - skin freckled even here, she was freckled everywhere - to his lips. Perhaps he was mooning like a schoolboy, but as he kissed the joints of her fingers, she did not recoil. She even seemed to relax.

Evelyn drew in a little closer to the commander, the wind lifting up locks of her auburn hair and blowing them around her face. He held her hand with one of his still, but let go with the other to push the stray hairs away. And Evelyn realized that there might be another reason she was hesitant marry the Emperor of Orlais.

“At least I’ve got you,” she said. 

The commander let go of her fingers and brought his hands to her face. She reached for the firm flesh of his waist, the strong bones in his hips.

“Cullen,” she said, but he shook his, a tiny gesture, and he kissed her tenderly, not in the heated, wanting way that he had in Orlais, or in the desperate way when she had come back from Emprise du Lion wounded, but in a slow, easy way, a way that took its time because there was no need to rush. There would be plenty more time.

Something tightened in his chest. He hoped there would be more time. Cullen started to pull away, but just as he had shown her that there was no need to speak, she insisted that there was no need to stop, and she stood on tip-toe to bring her lips back to his. He obliged, the tension in his heart fading, not daring to pull away until Evelyn’s grip on him relaxed.

Letting his hands slip away, he held on now only to her wrist, and his eyes fixed their gaze on the stones beneath their feet. He wanted to tell her, he wanted to know, but the words seemed to catch, to clot in his chest.

“Cullen?” she asked, tipping her face to try and see into his eyes.

“Evelyn, look. I -”

“Commander. Inquisitor.”

Cullen dropped Evelyn’s wrist and she turned around with an exasperated sigh, biting her tongue between her pursed lips as she came face to face with one of Leliana’s agents. She folded her arms and breathed roughly through her nose.

“Does she do this on purpose?” Evelyn asked the agent, as though the hooded young man would have any kind of an answer for her. He didn’t, and so she stuck out her hand to accept whatever report was about to be needlessly foisted upon her.

“I’m afraid I don’t… ah… Your presence is requested in the War Room, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, for…” Evelyn said. “Tell her I’m at dinner.”

The agent looked around as though he could find the offending food.

“Well, I was on my way - you know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m coming. Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.” The exasperation in her voice said that it was quicker and easier just to go than to bother trying to fight it. The agent nodded and went off.

Evelyn turned back around, “You were saying?”

Cullen had one hand on the back of his head, and his gaze was down in the rubble over the edge of the broken rampart. He looked like he might jump, but instead he said, “No, nothing. Go on. I’m right behind you.”

“I don’t think so, Commander,” said Evelyn, letting herself smile despite the situation. “You’re coming with me.”

Cullen exhaled sharply, a gentle laugh. “I find myself unable to say no to you, Inquisitor.”

“Well, as long as you want to say yes,” she said, and took a step back to twist her fingers in his. “Come on, let’s see what Leliana needs so urgently. Hope you don’t mind if we end up dining in the war room. Not exactly what I had in mind,” she admitted, giving his hand an apologetic squeeze.

“This is the path we’ve c hosen,” Cullen said, returning the action.

“Some of us, at least.”


	24. Irrelevant, Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So finding out his name was worthless,” Evelyn said, letting her hands fall to the table. “I never had to go to Halamshiral.”

Evelyn had pulled up a chair and had a plate resting on the edge of the war table, but her hands were occupied pressing her napkin to her mouth and her eyes glazed over as she stared at the word “Orlais” on the big map.

“Of course, you can’t just tell him no - which you certainly must, but letting him think the opportunity might arise…”

Cullen watched Evelyn from the window ledge where he had propped himself. He had mindlessly picked up one of the map markers and was turning it over and over in his hands. Leliana had been speaking for sometime now, and the commander couldn’t say how much of it Evelyn had actually heard, but she hadn’t pulled the napkin away from her face for several minutes. He liked to think he knew the Inquisitor well at this point and from what he had gathered he figured that this must be Evelyn’s idea of a nightmare. Orlais, Gaspard, politics, marriage - it was all there. He wanted to rescue her, and he thought momentarily about lighting the drapes on fire to create a diversion so that they could both sneak away before his adult mind woke up and realized that if she absolutely needed - or even wanted - to leave, she could have done it. Indeed, he himself didn’t needed to be there at all. But they were both doing their duty, despite the personal misery it entailed.

And it was misery indeed; though he knew the point was moot, because Evelyn would never go through with it regardless of the fact that Leliana herself had confirmed it was not the way to go about things, hearing a discussion of the Inquisitor’s marriage to Gaspard - well, to anyone - made the tightness in his chest return. It made him understand that what they had was not - not what? Not formal? Not official? Not real?

No, it was real. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t know if Evelyn would ever let him say the words, didn’t know if it would ever be more than a pleasant distraction. But for all the things it wasn’t - wasn’t yet, he hoped - it was real. But it was inconsequential in this grand scheme of which Evelyn was inextricably a part. He was inconsequential.

Evelyn lowered the napkin and nodded at something Leliana had said - evidently she had been listening - but then she looked up to Cullen and the edges of her mouth turned up, just slightly, but there was such warmth, such a welcome there, that his own expression responded in kind.

“What I want to know,” Evelyn said, turning her gaze away from the commander, “is can’t this wait until after Alexandre Thibodeaux is dealt with? He’s the whole reason I’m in this mess in the first place.” She picked up a pickled onion and popped it into her mouth.

“On the contrary, Inquisitor,” Leliana folded her arms behind her back. “You should dine with Gaspard first. Thibodeaux knows the templars he sent after you were slain; he knows that Gaspard was there. If he hears word that you’ve returned to Halamshiral for a celebratory dinner with the Emperor, he may assume that he’s in the clear. He may think that you’ve taken care of the problem by wiping out the templars that waited for you in Emprise du Lion.”

“But we didn’t -”

“Irrelevant, Inquisitor. If we have an opportunity to cause Thibodeaux to behave recklessly, we should take it.”

“Why can’t we just go after him? Isn’t that our standard course of action?”

Leliana deflated visibly. “Because… we can’t find him.”

“Pardon?” Cullen sat forward from the windowsill. 

“You can find anyone,” Evelyn agreed.

Leliana perched on the edge of the massive table and folded her hands defeatedly. “We are trying. I am trying. But so far… nothing.” Her hood fell over her eyes, and Josephine quickly picked up the thread.

“So far we have been able to find nothing on his family. We’re not sure where he may be hiding, because he does not seem to have any kind of ancestral home. I think that his last name, ‘Thibodeaux,’ may be an alias, if not the whole thing.”

“So finding out his name was worthless,” Evelyn said, letting her hands fall to the table. “I never had to go to Halamshiral.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” Josephine offered reassuringly. “And if that’s the name he’s giving to the templars that he’s dealing with, then it is a help.”

“So that’s our next move then? My next move? Go back to the Winter Palace and lead Gaspard on for an evening and hope it makes this Thibodeaux think we’ve stopped looking?” She picked up her napkin and tossed it onto her plate. “Alright, then. Let the Emperor know I’ll be there.” There was no joy in her acceptance.

“Very good,” said Josephine.

Evelyn rose and gave Leliana and Josephine a curt bow; she turned and tipped her head to Cullen. Turning on her heel she made for the large doors. Behind her she heard the sound of heavy footfalls that could only mean Cullen was following her out. Once they had made it through Josephine’s office, Cullen grasped her arm and said softly, “I, for one, am glad we had to go to Halamshiral.”

Evelyn smiled and a warmth started in her cheeks that spread to her whole body. “Meet me in my quarters tonight?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” she said, and touched him gently on the chest before she laughed softly and walked away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day special! Updates today (uh, which is to say, this one), tomorrow, and Monday! Feel the love.


	25. Speaking Like a Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I see that you will brook no argument here,” Gaspard said, but his expression was not one of defeat; it was one of enjoyment. “But there is something here that you have neglected entirely.”

So far, the entire dinner had been small periods of small talk interrupted by much longer periods of awkward silence made doubly awkward by the fact that Evelyn and Gaspard sat alone at a dinner table that could seat at least fifteen times their number. 

Set before Evelyn was more food than she could possibly have eaten, and more wine than she could possibly drink. She had already had more of the sweet golden draught than she should have, and she had to almost aggressively wave away a wispy elven servant who threatened to pour her more. 

It was only when dessert - a thick chocolate cake with a flamboyant layer of white frosting, or if she wasn’t swayed by that, several dozen small pastries arrayed on a three-tiered tray, and an even sweeter pink wine - was set before them that Gaspard folded his hands and leaned in toward the table and began to speak.

“Inquisitor, I want to say thank you for all you have done for Orlais - and for me.” What she had done went unspoken; they both knew she didn’t need or want to reminded of Celene’s death, whether or not Evelyn was directly responsible. Instead, she gave only a polite nod and sat up a little straighter, looking across five feet of tablespace, all of it arrayed with food and drink, to look the Emperor in the eyes. “You, of course, know why I asked you here. An alliance between Orlais and the Inquisition -”

“Would be completely unprecedented,” Evelyn interrupted, trying to remember all the things that Leliana had told her. As requested in her invitation, the Inquisitor had come alone, but somehow, somewhere, she knew the Nightingale was watching. 

“Indeed,” Gaspard agreed. “But I think you’ll find that many things that your Inquisition has done thus far are completely unprecedented.”

Well, he had her there. “True,” she answered, speaking slowly to avoid stepping on her words. “But I think you’ll find we have also avoided forming any… unequal unions with any part of Thedas.”

Gaspard nodded. “I cannot argue that. I look at your closest associates, and what do I find? A mage, loyal to the Circle; another, loyal to Tevinter; and another still, loyal only to himself. I find a Qunari, an elf, a Grey Warden, and even a dwarf. Even your war council is varied. A Fereldan templar, a Nevarran seeker, an Orlesian bard, and yourself, a Free Marcher and open supporter of the mage rebellion. Tell me, Inquisitor: how is it that this whole operation has not entirely fallen apart?”

Evelyn laughed. “We… have our moments, don’t get me wrong. But…” she chose her words now deliberately, “we don’t play games with each other.”

Gaspard pursed his lips, not objecting, but considering Evelyn’s words. The Emperor reached up and pulled his mask off over his head, and for the first time she saw Gaspard’s bare face. “You don’t want to play games, Inquisitor?”

“There is much to be said for saying what you mean.”

“Perhaps you’re right. In fact, I know you are. But there is also much to be said for considered speech. For feeling out a situation before making rash decisions. For knowing what the other person is going to do before they do it. If you know what steps your opponent will take before he takes them, he never has to take them at all. Being aware of potential danger often removes the threat.”

“Now you’re speaking like a soldier.”

“And I am - or I was. The way of the chevalier is more than just combat, Inquisitor. It is a way of life, once that has gotten me rather far, if I may be frank.”

“I can only concede the point,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. While Gaspard may have had the support of the Inquisition for his ascension to the throne, it was also true that he had had legions of soldiers already fighting for the man whom they considered to be the rightful ruler of Orlais. 

“Then perhaps you will concede this one: the Inquisition would be much stronger with the might of Orlais unanimously behind it.”

Evelyn drummed her fingers on the dense, dark wood of the table. “And what of Ferelden? They already bear me little love: for being nobility, for being a Marcher, for being a mage, many have whom have torn their homeland apart.”

“With an army at your disposal -”

“Gaspard,” Evelyn sat forward now, looking the man dead in the eyes, “I have an army. I do not need more soldiers, I do not want lands, I do not plan on winning this fight entirely with force. There are other methods.” Somewhere in her mind she could feel Leliana clearing her throat, telling her to be more gentle, to be more coy, but the thought of using Orlais’ armies to win Ferelden for her was crossing the boundaries of absurd. Her war was one against Corypheus, not for the hearts and minds of the people of Thedas.

“I see that you will brook no argument here,” Gaspard said, but his expression was not one of defeat; it was one of enjoyment. “But there is something here that you have neglected entirely.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” She folded her arms, crossed one leg over the other.

“An entirely other sort of need. Of course, an alliance between the Inquisition and Orlais would be powerful enough as a symbol alone, and I would never dream of treading on your good graces by asking you to abuse that power. But, Inquisitor: I am the Emperor of Orlais. I could forge one of any number of alliances through matrimony - pardon my hubris, Lady Trevelyan -” and he waved away his words as though they were a bit of smoke, “but I am asking you because… Inquisitor, I know that a marriage between two people such as ourselves would be more of a political gesture than an honest union between two individuals. But I find myself abhorred by the idea of marrying some poor woman to whom I am nothing more than a symbol, and who is nothing more than the quality of the gemstones on her mask.” Gaspard steepled his fingers as he leant upon his elbows. “You are a symbol in your own right, Evelyn, and you wear no mask, and I would be remiss if I did not confess that I like what I see.”

Evelyn blinked quickly, as though she could force the confusion - the disbelief - from her mind, as though she could unsee the way Gaspard was watching her expectantly, waiting for some kind of reply. How could this be? What was he seeing? Her ruddy face, her too-dark hair, her over-large nose on her flat cheeks, her fat lips and strong chin? There was nothing special about her at all, not on her face nor on her awkward frame, all hips no balance. Was it the sheen of her found power blurring with the station of her birth? It had to be. It was certainly not her absolute lack of social graces. 

“Emperor Gaspard, I - While I appreciate the… the sentiment… it… I’m sure you understand that I…” she rose haltingly from her chair, almost knocking over her glass of sweet pink wine. Reaching out quickly, she stilled the cup and backed up, continuing to sputter, “I… will have to think this over. Speak to my advisors. You understand.”

Cooly, Gaspard responded, “Of course, Inquisitor.” He reached for his mask and replaced it on his face. 

Evelyn reached up and touched her own face, then quickly jerked her hand back once she realized there was no mask there - had never been a mask there - and she turned and left the room as quickly as she could without breaking into a run.


	26. So Much More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this time she was alone. There was no handsome commander for her to steal away with, to steal a kiss from, to…

Evelyn lay in her unfamiliar bed, a little more familiar now since it was the same room she had stayed in during her previous visit to the Winter Palace. She had thought that that was unfortunate and awkward. If only she had known…

And this time she was alone. There was no handsome commander for her to steal away with, to steal a kiss from, to…

Oh, so much more.

But it was more than that, now, wasn’t it? It felt like moments ago that she had turned to him for nothing more than physical release, not at all meaningless or worthless but easy, uncommitted. It was what she had needed to get her mind away this place. But now Cullen was not here, and did she… what if she wanted something more from him?

Maker, if she couldn’t figure out was Gaspard could see in her, a man who had political gains to make through her, then what in the world did Cullen see? What did she have to offer him? Nothing - the opposite of nothing: she was a mage and he was a templar, maybe not anymore but he had been. It wasn’t just that Evelyn knew how to get what she wanted; he seemed willing enough to humor her, seemed to enjoy their time together. And he was the one who thought she was brushing him off. Unlikely; Evelyn was ever surprised that Cullen had no one - besides herself - with whom to pass his time. He was every bit as handsome as she was bland. Handsome, and smart, and kind behind his stern soldier’s visage.

And terribly, terribly handsome.

Evelyn did not have the soft fabric, the warm scent of Cullen’s shirt to keep her company, certainly did not have the heat of his skin. But she had the memory of his deep brown eyes, the feeling of his rough hands on her bare skin, the urgency of his kiss.

She bit her lip and let her eyelids flutter shut, and suddenly Evelyn couldn’t wait to be back in Skyhold, the place she had only days ago wanted to escape. She wanted to be back in that cold, stone fortress in Cullen’s warm, strong arms. But for now, all she could do was wait.

Well, there was one other thing.

Evelyn let her hand slip down below her belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is up so late - but, you know, Deadpool.


	27. Patience, You Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wondered if Alexandre Thibodeaux would slip up, thinking himself safe from Inquisitorial prosecution. Evelyn only hoped he would, and when he did, she would make him pay.

Nothing had ever made Evelyn feel more blessed by the Maker than finding out that Gaspard had left Halamshiral before she had even risen, the Emperor having gone out to hunt wyverns with other members of a most certainly drunk nobility. Nothing made her less blessed than realizing she would have to explain everything to Leliana and Josephine, even if she suspected the spymaster already knew.

On the list of ridiculous things that had happened to her, the previous night ranked pretty high. And she was leading an Inquisition, which by itself was enormously ridiculous. 

As she leaned back against the cushioned seat of her carriage, Evelyn was glad, for as lonely as she felt, that she had come alone. That she could sit now in the quiet of the morning and let the past night work itself out in her brain. Had Gaspard really… He had, and what was more, he clearly expected her to reciprocate in some way, at least in some way more than stuttering and backing sheepishly out of the room. If she could have just said no - if they had been at Skyhold, if she could have just tossed his silly Orlesian ass out of the door.

But she could not, and they were not. She was, however, on her way home, and for that she was thankful. 

Evelyn wondered if this ridiculous rouse had served its purpose - its purpose besides stringing along Emperor Gaspard. She wondered if Alexandre Thibodeaux would slip up, thinking himself safe from Inquisitorial prosecution. Evelyn only hoped he would, and when he did, she would make him pay.

 

* * *

 

“He said what?” Josephine blurted.

Evelyn was almost doubled over the war table, one head on her forehead, the other flat down on the map. “You heard me,” she mumbled. Even Leliana had nothing to say.

Josephine’s cheeks were bright red, and she looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh to be indignant for the Inquisitor. “Well! I never -!” was all she managed.

Cullen stood sullenly near the door, arms crossed over his chest. “What about Thibodeaux?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Evelyn, picking up her head slightly, hair falling around her face, “what about him? Have we heard anything?”

“Patience, you two,” said Leliana, but her usual playfulness was lacking from her voice. “It’s only been a day.”

Evelyn heaved a sigh and let her head hang once more. “Well, at least I’m done being bait.”

“For now,” said Leliana.

“For now?” said Evelyn - and Cullen.

“Well, of course,” answered the spymaster. “You still haven’t told Gaspard no, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meta-notes: I'm going to have to finish this soon. There isn't enough space in my brain to write this many fics... I've just begun another one-off (that should be up soon)...
> 
> And I officially started writing the sequel to Inquisition, Indiana.
> 
> In the unused dates at the beginning of my planner. Hashtag classy.
> 
> Anyway, we're probably lookin' at maybe 40, 45 chapters, so there's more, don't worry, but I'm at least internally trying to start wrapping it up.
> 
> Considering this was supposed to be like 10 chapters long... yeah.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me so far, guys.


	28. There's Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric lowered his voice and curved his body away from the direction of the Arcanist, edging closer to the Inquisitor. “So what are you going to do?”

Evelyn was in the undercroft, having Harritt design some new armor for her. The memory of how easily the arrow had pierced her, the dark blotch on her shoulder where the wound remained, still stung - though it wasn’t the first time something like that had happened, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. She felt safer, though, having something stronger. Having something new.

Dagna was at her side, leaning around her elbow and extolling the virtues of various runes and sigils, when Evelyn heard the door to the cavern open. She turned her head away from her incomplete pattern to find Varric walking down the stairs toward her. He gave Dagna and Harritt a nod. Harritt paused for a moment sharpening a blade to acknowledge Varric’s entrance with a tip of his chin. Evelyn peeled away from the Arcanist at her elbow. 

“Hey, Varric,” Evelyn said, propping herself up against Harritt’s work table. “What’s up?”

“Heard about what Gaspard said to you,” he answered, and did his best to hide his smile, which wasn’t very good at all. “That’s… uncomfortable.”

“You’re telling me,” Evelyn muttered. 

“So, I’m to understand that you don’t reciprocate his feelings?” 

Evelyn stared him down in answer.

“Alright, alright,” Varric said, putting his hands up and turning his eyes away, “don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Well hang on,” said Dagna from across the room. “What happened with you and the Emp -”

“Later, Dagna,” Harritt said, not looking up from his work.

“But -”

“Later,” insisted the blacksmith tersely, and Dagna backed off.

Varric lowered his voice and curved his body away from the direction of the Arcanist, edging closer to the Inquisitor. “So what are you going to do?”

She pressed her lips flat and rolled her eyes. “Per Josephine and Leliana, I’m going to string him along until we have enough information from him, and then I’m going let him down easy. Or something, I don’t know,” she put up her hands as though pushing the whole situation away from herself.

“That’s politics,” Varric said, but his tone was commiseratory. 

“Pretty over politics,” Evelyn mumbled, idly reaching down to the workbench and turning a pair of pliers around in a circle on the smooth surface with her finger.

“Hate to break it to you, but -”

“Yeah, I know. I’m the Inquisitor. Don’t remind me.”

“You’re really not into this, huh,” Varric said, leaning back a bit, as though appraising the woman’s honesty.

Evelyn took a deep breath. “Not… Well, I don’t know. The idea of it isn’t what bothers me - I mean, it’s big and huge and scary, but I’ll cope. I sort of have no choice but to cope. And I have you all - no I mean that,” she said, when Varric rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. “I just didn’t think there would be so much damn resistance to saving the world.”

“You’d be surprised,” Varric offered. “Seems the way of things that heroes have to jump through hoops. Especially reluctant ones.”

The Inquisitor looked up from the pliers she had twirled. Varric gave her a small smile and a raised eyebrow that said he knew, and she believed him, but then a skeptical look crossed his face.

“So, the commander, huh?”

“Oh Varric,” Evelyn’s body sagged. “Really?”

“I have to know! When I tell this story, I’m gonna need to have all the details straight!”

She half-turned away from him and crossed her arms, throwing a side-long look over her shoulder. “Really.”

“Would I lie to you, Inquisitor?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, Varric.”

The dwarf paused. “Ah… heh, well,” he ran his hands over his hair. “You’ve got me there.” He gave her look like a dog caught in the act of ripping up a piece of fine linen, a look that also asked her please.

Straightening up a bit, Evelyn turned once more to face him and tilted herself toward Varric’s level. “Oh, Varric, I don’t know. I don’t have any details to give you. I’m not even sure what’s going on myself.”

He rubbed his chin. “It’s like that, is it?”

“It’s not like anything,” she objected. “There’s… it’s nothing. It’s just -”

He made a lewd motion with his hands.

“No!” she shouted, though her tone was that of a whisper.

“No?” he prodded.

She bowed her head and gripped her hair with one hand as she grasped his arm with the other, dragging him away from the worktable where Dagna and Harritt, though silent, were still within earshot.

“I mean yes, but - I just enjoy his company, okay? That’s all it is,” but even as she said it, she felt the heat, the color, rising in her pale cheeks.

Scratching his lip, Varric said. “Mmhmm. And is that all he thinks it is?”

“Yes! Yes,” she insisted, as the door just above them creaked open.  “It’s nothing. There’s nothing between me and Cullen.”

“Hello there, Commander,” Varric said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys: I will be posting something special - something new - on Saturday (2/27). I have two stand-alone things I've been sitting on for a while, and I'm not sure which I want to post first. Both are pretty dark. One's more in the vein of this story here, a little humor, a little romance, but still pretty... well, dark, and the other is a bit more Thedo-political, but I think it might be the better of the two (I know it's the better of the two; it's one of the better things I've ever written). Any preference? Otherwise, I'll just close my eyes and pick. I'm very attached to them both, so it's hard to see them leave my desperate, grasping, writerly embrace, but what's the point if they never get read.
> 
> Oh and don't worry, I'm still actively writing this sucker here. It's just taking some time. Sorry for the slow posting.


	29. I Was Hoping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she stood on the landing with him, he only said, “They’ve found Thibodeaux.”

Evelyn froze, the red draining out of her face to be replaced by an even whiter shade of pale than she normally was. She hadn’t meant to say it, or had, but only to make Varric leave her alone. It was none of his business, it was no one’s business but hers and Cullen’s and he had heard it all wrong. Hesitantly, she lifted her eyes up to meet the commander’s.

His jaw was set hard, teeth noticeably clenched, the muscles that controlled them bulging out behind his cheeks. He kept one hand on the door as though to surrender his grasp, to come down into the Undercroft now would be one step too far. He cleared his throat.

“I was hoping I could speak with you, Inquisitor.” His voice was flat, disaffected.

In the space between the thought entering Evelyn’s brain and the time it took her shocked mouth to respond, Varric hastily said, “I’ll leave you kids alone,” and he walked the short span across the room to use the opposite staircase, brushing past Cullen while making himself as small as he could, an area in which he did have a distinct advantage.

“Cullen, I -” Evelyn began, but she stopped, turning and looking at Dagna and Harritt behind her. She expected Dagna to be entranced and she was, but even the surly blacksmith was failing to hide his stare, so the Inquisitor only said, “Yes. Of course.” She began to ascend the stairs and gently reached out her hand toward him, and he didn’t turn away, but he gave her no reaction whatsoever.

When she stood on the landing with him, he only said, “They’ve found Thibodeaux.”

She nodded her head, unnerved by his stiffness, his terse words. She should tell him, tell him it was a mistake, but she only said, “Alright.”

He was, for lack of anything else to be, embarrassed. 

On the barracks he had almost broken, almost taken her face in his hands, pulled her hair away from her eyes and told her that he needed something more, asked her if she would be willing to give it. Thought she might say yes, the way that she had held him, kissed him.

But there was nothing. 

He stood up straight and tall as he walked alongside her, but his heart was throbbing in his chest, his breath was threatening to race. He thought he had been ready for this, had reasoned himself through it a time, again, a dozen more. He thought he could take it in stride, could give her what she wanted, thought he could enjoy - he hated the expression even as he thought it - taking it from her.

But no.

He couldn’t. 

He felt an unusual kind of panic rising and he turned to look at her, but she was reaching out, putting her hand on the door to Josephine’s office, already pushing past and through to the War Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this to force myself to keep writing. +mimes noose, hangs self+
> 
> Annnnnyway, don't forget to go check out my new one-off, "Take It All." That would be super cool and groovy and sweet of yinz.
> 
> No pressure.


	30. We Have Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Send word to your people,” she informed them. “We move at first light.”

“We have him?” her voice was resonant and firm in the great, nearly empty chamber.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Leliana assured her as Evelyn strode powerfully to the map. “Some of my agents have pinned down his current residence. It’s a few miles south of Verchiel,” she gestured easily to the map with a slender finger, indicating a spot far south and east of Val Royeaux. “We have eyes on him. We’ll know if he leaves.”

“Excellent.”

“It also seems,” Josephine said, checking things off of her board, “that his ‘nobility’ may be entirely manufactured. I can find no record of his family or house, and none of my contacts have any information to offer me, good or ill.”

“An assumed name?”

“I suspect,” the Ambassador answered.

“Can we find out who he really is?” Evelyn pressed. 

“We’re working on it, Inquisitor,” Josephine answered, and Leliana nodded.

“We’re moving soldiers into the area,” Cullen offered, stepping forward, his voice harder but quieter than Evelyn was used to. “They won’t move until you give the order.”

Evelyn’s gaze remained fixed on the table, and she bobbed her head. “Alright. Have we sent word to Orlais?”

“It’s on the way. Should we wait for Emperor Gaspard’s response?” Josephine asked, looking up from her papers.

“No. He owes me this. At least this. If he doesn’t come to our aid, I will consider it an affront of the worst degree. The marriage would absolutely be off,” and she gave Leliana a conspiratorial wink. Evelyn stood and stretched her back as she cracked her knuckles out in front of her. “That said, how soon can we do this?”

“My agents are already in place,” Leliana confirmed.

“The troops can be ready by morning,” Cullen assured her.

“The nobility in the area know that we are looking for an imposter and are ready to support you,” answered Josephine.

“And Gaspard will know soon enough.” She took a deep breath through her nose and glanced back down to the map, then up at her advisors. “Send word to your people,” she informed them. “We move at first light.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is the only day of the year that tells you to do something:
> 
> March fo(u)rth.
> 
> And post some god damned fan fiction.
> 
> Bonus upload thanks to some inspirational bullshit I saw on Facebook that I found to be in the spirit of the thing.


	31. I Know You Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Evelyn,” he said with a voice like something was caught in his throat. “I need to talk to you.”

Leliana had returned to the rookery to send her ravens, Josephine was making for her office to write her correspondence. Evelyn hovered over the map a few moments longer, tracing the path from Skyhold to Halamshiral, from Skyhold to Verchiel. If the messenger had already left for the Winter Palace, and Gaspard responded, his forces - or whatever help he saw fit to supply - would certainly reach Verchiel before the Inquisition. He would have no excuse.

Evelyn rubbed her lips together and nodded her head, satisfied. She didn’t know what kind of reinforcements this Alexandre Thibodeaux was capable of supplying - if he was smuggling red lyrium to the templars, if he was a follower of Corypheus, they could be many and varied. But she had reinforcements of her own. She backed up from the war table before she turned around, and when she did, she was face to face with Cullen.

“Commander,” she said, throwing a hand up to her chest, slightly startled. She had known he was still in the room, but hadn’t realized he was right behind her.

“Evelyn,” he said with a voice like something was caught in his throat. “I need to talk to you.”

“Of course, Cullen. Of course.”

He seemed to hesitate, seemed to want to reach out for her, but instead he folded his hands behind his back and gestured to the door with a tip of his head. Then he walked ahead, and she followed silently.

He lead her out of the Keep and into the courtyard, out of the courtyard and into the snow. She followed all the while, as he lead her down the gentle slope of the mountain pass, down to the tree line. She wanted to ask where he was leading her, to say that it was cold - but in the breezeless air, bundled in a leather jacket with a scarf around her neck, it wasn’t too cold, not cold like in Emprise; it was a slow, persistent cool, not the sharp, bitingly painful chill she had experienced then - but the commander seemed to be gathering his strength, or finding his voice, or waiting.

When the sun had sunk low enough that the afternoon sky had shifted from daylight winter white to a soft candied pink, Cullen finally stopped and turned to face Evelyn, his boots ankle-deep in powdery snow, the bare branches of black and white trees forming a cradle above their heads.

“I can’t do this,” he said, bringing an open hand to his chin. The heaviness of the snow threatened to swallow up his words like it had swallowed up their footfalls, but Evelyn heard his plea as a white puff of anxious breath left his mouth between his fingers.

The Inquisitor took a few steps closer, making her hands into fists and rubbing warmth into the backs of her fingers with her thumbs. “...Cullen?”

He sniffed, looking at the ground, before he let his hand drop from his face, let his gaze find hers, and his arms reached out, pleading, wanting to grasp her arms, pull her close, but he only let them fall to his sides again, hugging in against the pale light. “Please, Evelyn - I know what you said. I know you never… never promised me anything.” Something threatened to rise from his chest, to escape. “I thought I could do this with you. For you. I wanted...” He shook his head hard and started to turn away, but she took a step, two toward him and put a bare, pale hand on the span of leather between the fierce armor of his shoulder and arm, and her gentle touch was enough to stop him dead. He turned his face to hers, teeth clenched. He drew a shallow, harsh breath. “I can’t, Evelyn. It’s too much, it’s - it’s not enough.” His mouth open, eyes closed, he fought for the words, quick breaths floating away in puffs of pale steam. “I’m sorry, Maker, I’m - I,” he breathed, “I love you.”

Evelyn froze for an instant, only an instant, before the fingers that rested still on his arm tightened, before an open smile split her face. She reached up with her other hand, reached up to his shoulder, his neck, and he opened his eyes, but didn’t look to hers. 

He didn’t look until, in a short, sharp burst, a laugh burst free from the Inquisitor.

“Cullen,” she said breathlessly, bringing both her hands to the side of his face, slipping her fingers carelessly over his sharp stubble, running her thumbs along the dark circles under his eyes, wide brown eyes where the threat of tears had been replaced with a sort of numb shock. She brought herself closer to him, brought her nose almost to touch his own. “Blessed Andraste, Cullen, I love you,” and her breath was laughter. Smiling, she closed her eyes and tipped her head down until the tip of his nose pressed against the crown of her head. Swallowing, she whispered again, “I love you. I do.”

She had known it, somewhere in the pit of her belly, known it maybe since she sat on her horse in Emprise du Lion and wished he rode beside her, known it maybe since she laid alone in Halamshiral and wanted to think of nothing but his warmth next to her, soft and simple while he slept, known it maybe all along. But whatever the case, she knew it now, and the exhalation of those words from him had drawn them out of her where she would not have dared admit them to herself without this catalyst.

“But no,” he said quietly, his lips against her forehead, unwilling to break this moment in case he had misheard her not once but twice, even as his arms twisted themselves around her, “no, you said there was nothing -”

“Because Varric is a neb-nose and a gossip and it’s none of his blasted business, Maker love him,” Evelyn sighed. She pushed her head under his chin and laid against his chest, letting her fingers twist together behind his neck.

“Ah,” Cullen answered. He looked up to the sky, his throat stretched long beside Evelyn’s head. “I… may have been a fool.”

“Not at all,” she said quietly. “I should have told you. I just… didn’t know.” She sighed, her whole body rising and falling with the air in her lungs. “You’re a good man, Cullen. An excellent one. I would be the fool if I let you go.”

“You’re not the one who nearly just made that very mistake.”

“It’s alright. I stopped you, didn’t I?”

“That you did, Inquisitor. That you did,” and he pressed his chin against her temple. The relief he felt was palpable. It drowned out the cold, it slowed the thumping of his heart, quelled the panic in his lungs that had made him feel like he could not, could never find enough air. Now he felt like he was swimming in warm, in safety, and couldn’t picture even having had to give her up. The idea was absurd. How could he be anywhere but here, with her body pressed against his?

“I love you,” he said softly.

“You mentioned that,” she told him, but kissed him gently on his neck, his chin, his check, and when he tipped his head down, his lips. They were chilly at first, but she warmed them up quickly as she warmed as well from her center out, the heat radiating into her limbs as his hands moved from her back to her hips, gripping them firmly and pulling her close to crush against him the way he crushed his mouth against hers now.

When they broke apart, he said with a swallow, “We should, uh, get back to…”

“My room,” she nearly gasped, and he groaned anxiously at the suggestion, working his gloved fingers into her hair and bringing their lips together again.

“I don’t know if I’ll make it that far,” he said against her skin, his face flushed.

An idea brushed through Evelyn’s mind. It wasn’t the kind of thing she was used to, not the kind of magic she was used to working, but she had studied it at the Circle, and for something as simple as this, she thought she should be able to pull it off. Her arms around his neck, she pushed him back, his feet leaving a trail in the snow for her to follow as she moved his body against the trunk of a sturdy old tree. From deep in her center, she summed up a flow of warmth that slowly began to melt the snow at their feet, to evaporate the gentle flakes that drifted down into steam before they even touched the ground.

“Evelyn..?” Cullen breathed.

“Cullen,” she insisted quietly, and he found himself unable to object.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, I'm taking a break updating my other major work, "Inquisition, Indiana" at the moment, because my beta reader has been a little busy lately, as have I. If you're a reader of that one, have no fear, normal updates will resume soon. If you're not, but I'm updating "You Look" a little too slowly for you, now's a good time to give that one a read while it's on its brief hiatus. It's just over half-posted so you've got something like 35 chapters to check out. And yes - there is Cullen, and there is Dorian, and everything is fabulous.
> 
> Except when it's not.


	32. Like It Was a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was so unlike the first time...

She reached for his hands, pulling off his gloves and letting them fall to the ground. Bringing the tips of his fingers to her lips, she kissed the tip of every one of them, left thumb to pinky, right pinky to thumb, where she paused to gently bite the tip of the digit and delighted in hearing his surprised - but pleased - gasp when her teeth nipped just a little harder, and he used his left hand to grasp her forearm tightly. When she released his right hand he unwound the scarf from her neck and dropped it, tipping up her chin with his fingers and kissing the space under her ears, down to the small patch of skin on her chest that her leather jerkin left exposed. He wanted to strip her bare, and her spell kept them warm, but he took one look at all the buckles that stretched from her shoulders to her waist and knew he could not get away with what he had done in Halamshiral. She could not walk back to Skyhold in the skin the Maker had given her - what lovely skin - and his own armor would prove equally as tedious. No, he could not be bothered. He reached for the laces of her trousers and undid them by touch alone, his eyes closed and lips pressed hard against her neck. She sighed hotly and draped her arms over his shoulders, hands hanging limp behind him until his thumb found the tight bundle of nerves hidden between her legs. She gasped and shuddered, her body almost drawing away at the shock, hands no longer limp but fists and against her reflex she forced herself closer to him, the warmth of her magic flaring up for a moment into a sweltering heat before she regained control of herself and pushed it back down to a dull burn as she herself was burning. 

He pressed circles against the bud between her legs and she moaned wordlessly, fingers grasping for nothing, eyelids fluttering and he straightened up to let her head relax against his chest as he switched from his thumb to the tips of his ring and middle fingers, slipping slowly up and down in a small place at first, then in a line that trailed lower and lower until he found his way inside of her. Evelyn cried out, fingers finding stability in the curls of his hair, and her cry slowly turned into an affirmation, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers slipped slowly, carefully in and out of her. She breathed hard with every motion, ecstasy swelling up inside of her. 

Carefully he withdrew his hand from her and reached for his own belt, the laces of his own breeches. He pulled Evelyn’s pants down to her thighs, and then his own. He reached his hand around her neck, and as he pulled her hair all to one side, he turned Evelyn, switching places with her. She braced her hands against the trunk of the tree as Cullen wrapped one strong arm around her waist, his open hand reaching up to her sternum, pressing his chest hard against her back, the other hand reaching between her legs to guide his member inside of her.

“Oh, Cullen,” she gasped, as he pushed in deep, straightening out his own free hand parallel to hers to steady himself against the tree, the other still holding her tightly around the middle. He closed his eyes and rested his chin in the crook of her neck as he rocked into her, out of her. She was already slick and tight from the action of his fingers, already half-lost in waves of warmth. His breath was hot against her neck, her cheek; his open hand pressing flat against her belly as his hips worked slowly. 

It was so unlike the first time that had been together - hot and desperate still, born of the same undeniable urges, but each knew the other now, had learned from that first time and half a dozen other times since. Their bodies moved in a familiar rhythm, practiced but somehow more instinctual than before. Their breaths matched with each push, and he kissed the corner of her mouth, finding that small dimple without opening her eyes, his whole body easy against hers in the warmth of her magic. As he drew closer to release, he slid his hand against the tree, over to hers, to tangle his fingers in Evelyn’s, squeezing her hand as her soft, deep moans were lost in the thick of the forest, in the weight of the fallen snow. 

She thought she would struggle to keep a hold on her magic in the throes of her passion, but she found the thread of the cast and the thread of her charged breath twined together easily, even as the lowest muscles of her abdomen tightened, as Cullen’s movements grew slower but deeper, more purposeful. He clenched his jaw to steady himself, to keep himself from shaking as he heard Evelyn’s soft exaltations coming more roughly now, feeling her hand squeezing his in a more desperate way. His cheek was pressed hard against hers and he could feel her mouth opening and closing as she drew closer and closer to her finish, the shape of her lips a soft, wordless plea.

It was too much. His fingers closed into a fist and he pushed into her hard, a rough breath drawn fiercely out of him as he spilled into her, the fingers that had gripped her own so tightly stretching out, trembling against the back of her hand, the bark of the tree, his body quaking as he gave himself up to her.

Evelyn drew a shuddering breath, the sudden swelling inside of her pushing release through her body until it came out as a throaty cry. Her elbows threatened to give out but Cullen held her still, and as she breathed in and out in another soft moan, the spell around them collapsed, and their panting now left their lips in matched plumes of steam as Cullen eased them slowly against the trunk. Resting her forehead against the bark, she wrapped her arms around Cullen’s as they wrapped around her, and he kissed her cheek once, and again, and between them he said her name like it was a prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone. Enjoy your weekend. ;)


	33. Always Am, Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was something innocent, something careless - or carefree.

Evelyn and Cullen gathered up their discarded garments and made themselves decent as the the light began to fade from the sky above them, the afternoon pink shifting to an aquamarine blue, the snow white branches now blackened with shadow. Evelyn had began to trudge ahead, tucking her hands under her arms to keep warm as the temperature dropped away with the light, but Cullen followed quickly behind and grabbed her elbow, tugging her close enough to put an arm over her shoulders. She laughed and made no move to resist him, leaning her head against his body as their legs found a rhythm together, trudging through the soft, white snow.

They reached Skyhold just as the last light bled from the sky, and Evelyn made for her chambers, Cullen turning to go to his own, but just as he let her go, he stopped, and turned back around.

“Evelyn,” he said, and she turned back to face him, closing the small distance that had opened between them. “Be careful tomorrow.”

She looked up into his brown eyes, black in the evening, and gave him a wink. “Always am, Commander.” She ran her tongue behind her teeth, and reached up to pull his head down, kissing him hard. They were in the center of the courtyard, and people were still milling about in the early winter dusk. After the past days, weeks, Evelyn didn’t care. Rumors were obviously being whispered around the Keep; if Varric had not been the one to start them, he would not be the one to stop them. So let them not be rumors, she decided. Let them at least know the truth.

Cullen’s body locked up at first, if only from the surprise of thing, and then melted into her touch. This was what he had wanted, after all, wasn’t it? When he wanted her to spend the night, when he wanted to tell her that he needed more than a secret, more than a fling. It felt strange, but it was a warm sort of strange, and he pulled one arm around her, the other hand pressing to her cheek. 

They let each other go, and Evelyn gave him a kind of smile that he couldn’t recall having seen from her before. It was something innocent, something careless - or carefree. And then she turned and was gone.

One side of Cullen’s mouth pulled up into a crooked grin, and he clasped his hands behind his back and walked back to his quarters, not caring who saw the mindless expression of joy on his face.

 

* * *

 

  
  


The Inquisitor rapped on the frame of Sera’s open door.

“Well’o,” said the elfin girl, rising from the cushions she had sprawled across as Evelyn let herself in. “Whatcha got?”

“Doing anything tomorrow?” Evelyn asked with a smile.

“Whatever I want,” Sera answered, picking at her teeth before amending, “‘less…”

“Help me put some arrows in some nobles?”

“Hah! You got it, Inquisitor. Say, hey,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she brushed her bangs away from her face. “Bees, yeah?”

“Always bees.”

“N’that’s why Coryphenus doesn’t stand a chance. No one expects bees from the Inquisition.”

Evelyn left with a smile, shaking her head.

 

* * *

 

 

Evelyn was leaving Herald’s Rest when she heard a voice behind her.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra called.

“Seeker,” Evelyn said, turning and walking backwards a bit as her feet slowed and the dark-haired woman approached her. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow to go after Thibodeaux?” Cassandra asked, almost breathless, though she hadn’t had far to run.

Evelyn nodded her head. “I am. I mean to end this.”

“I want to go with you,” implored Cassandra, standing up straight so that she practically towered over the Inquisitor. It was always intimidating, and her face had that familiar sternness, but Evelyn had seen it enough to know that there could be both joy and friendship in that same expression. But Cassandra had been affected by this more than most of the other people Evelyn surrounded herself with. The Seeker’s entire order had been brought down by red lyrium, by Corypheus, and even if she had wanted to, Evelyn didn’t have it in her to tell the woman no.

“Of course, Cassandra. Of course.”

Evident relief flooded the tall woman, and he shoulders relaxed a bit when she said, “Oh, good, yes. Leliana has given me the details of your mission. It sounds like we are well-prepared.”

“As we can be,” Evelyn mused. She was hesitant to be too hopeful; for all the backup she was supposed to have, she didn’t know how much of it would arrive. Certainly, she could trust her own people, but anyone else she might expect she would only count on once she saw them on the field of battle. And she knew how the tide could turn. She also had no idea how many reinforcements this Thibodeaux would have, and how much red lyrium he would have with which to supply them. That might make all the difference. But Evelyn was at least as ready as she could be, and that could count for a lot as well. Having Cassandra by her side doubled that. She trusted the Seeker with her life - literally.

 

* * *

 

 

All Dorian wanted to know was if it would be as cold as it had been in Emprise du Lion.

“Shouldn’t think so,” Evelyn said with her hands on her hips.

“Then count me in, Inquisitor. I’m willing to sacrifice my beauty sleep for you. Not that I need it,” he said with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I was gonna write today but I killed my laptop battery listening to all the Eurovision entrants. 
> 
> +shifty eyes+
> 
> No I did finish a chapter though.
> 
> But Eurovision -


	34. You Don't Have to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t so bad, Evelyn decided. Maybe she should have done this sooner.

When Evelyn returned to her quarters, she found Cullen waiting for her there. He was sitting at her desk with two steaming mugs in front of him, and a book spread like a winged creature in his hands. He looked up from the text when he heard Evelyn ascend the stair, and as she approached him he said, “I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t focus, so I thought perhaps a cup of something hot, and then thought you might like something as well.” He clapped the book shut and pushed a mug towards her with the other. “Mulled wine. Thought it might help you sleep.”

“Bless you,” said Evelyn, bumping her hip against the desk and leaning there as she reached for the cup and brought the sweet, spiced draught to her lips. Until that moment, she hadn’t thought she was tired, but the length and content of the day caught up to her as she breathed in the first cloud of hot steam. 

Which she had been informing her companions of tomorrow’s plans, night had descended and Evelyn was suddenly exhausted. She took a long, deep drink, and let the warmth settle into her bones.

Cullen stood and picked up his own mug, tucking the book under an arm. “I should let you rest,” he offered. “Tomorrow will be long. The next day may as well.”

Evenly squeezed shut her eyes. It was a thought that she had been vaguely aware of, that this might take more than a day. The trip there alone would take at least the morning, and might last into the afternoon. And there would be no suchy carriages this time; that would be an ambush waiting to happen. 

And then, of course, they would have to come back. 

She didn’t want to think about the space in between.

But as Cullen began to walk away, Evelyn sighed hard and said, “You don’t have to go.” 

His eyes darted to Evelyn, to the bed, and back. “I don’t… it’s already late…”

She shook her head with a small smile. “No, I… you don’t have to, but if you want, you can stay here, with me, tonight.”

Shuffling the book higher up and switching his mug to that hand, Cullen reached out and wrapped his arm around Evelyn’s middle. 

“I think that can be arranged."

 

* * *

 

  
  


The bed was too warm and too soft. Cullen read quietly and Evelyn sat back against the pillows, her eyes closed as she held the once-hot mug, dregs of wine and spices having cooled at the bottom. She was awake, but barely, allowing nothing more than the sensations of the room to occupy her attention as her mind became quiet, her body went still. 

“Here,” Cullen reached out and took the empty mug from her, and she relinquished it to him. He reached over the side and set the cup on the floor, clutching his book and holding his place with just one finger until he rose again, going back to his page, but not before reaching out and pulling Evelyn under his arm. Without ever opening her eyes, she adjusted herself against both her pillows and his, resting her head against the side of his chest, pushing her cheek against the soft fabric of his undershirt. He rested his hand on her shoulder, beneath her soft red hair, taking a small lock of it between his fingers and rubbing it gently, absentmindedly, as he turned back to his reading. 

This wasn’t so bad, Evelyn decided. Maybe she should have done this sooner.


	35. An Excuse to Stretch Our Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it was a dream, an untenable fantasy at least until Corypheus had been taken care of, but it sustained her long enough that her mind darkened peaceful and, sitting up on her horse, she drifted off into a tenuous sleep.

Even on the back of her horse, Evelyn threatened to nod off. 

Coming down the mountain, the weather had gotten colder; Skyhold existed in a strange, temperate patch despite its elevation, and she had chalked this up to some ancient Elven magic, though she hadn’t asked Solas about it for fear of offending the elf in some way or another. But the rest of the mountain had a much more, well, mountainous climate, and the snow that had fallen overnight, snow that had only been flurries when she and Cullen had occupied their place in the small, bare grove, seemed to absorb all of the heat that might have been in the air on the previous day. She considered summoning the same warmth, but she was tired, and she reasoned that it would be warmer once they reached a lower elevation. She hugged her scarf a little tighter instead and looked around at her companions. Cassandra seemed not at all to notice the weather and to be focused on the trail in front of them. Dorian looked a bit surly but nowhere near as much as he had been in Emprise. Sera was leaning forward on her horse, almost certainly asleep, the talented, or more likely just well-trained, beast finding its own way down the mountain. She had the right idea, Evelyn decided, and groaned a bit to herself, remembering the warmth of Cullen’s arm around her as she slept. The worst part about having him around, she had decided, was having to leave. She rolled her head around on her neck, trying to find a bit of ease in the muscles there. She couldn’t wait until all of this was over, Evelyn thought, pushing out of her mind for a moment the fact that it might be months or years until she was done dealing with Corypheus, might never be done dealing with the institution that had become her Inquisition. But maybe she could take a small break, a small respite. She had people she could trust, was with three of them right now, was with the soldiers that Cullen had hand-picked as they rode behind and ahead of her. Maybe just a day or two where she didn’t leave her blankets. Just a day or two where she didn’t have to go to the War Room, to receive a report, to put on appearances. Or clothes.

Maybe it was a dream, an untenable fantasy at least until Corypheus had been taken care of, but it sustained her long enough that her mind darkened peaceful and, sitting up on her horse, she drifted off into a tenuous sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Inquisitor.”

The sound of her title woke her up.

Cassandra was riding alongside her now, slowing, not the several paces behind that the Seeker tended to keep. Evelyn hastily shook off the rest of her sleep as best as she could and swallowed to get some moisture into her mouth before she muttered, “What is it?” She knew she couldn’t have been asleep long; though the landscape around them was lush and green now, not the snowy scenery she had left behind, the light around them still carried a distinct early morning glow; considering they had left in near-blackness, she could have been asleep a few hours, but not long enough for them to have arrived, or even gotten more than halfway there. Evelyn tugged her horse to a stop and the rest of her travelling party did the same.

“Ahead,” was all Cassandra said, and, letting go of the reigns to move her hands to her sore back, Evelyn peered ahead into a maze of leaves and branches. At first, her eyes couldn’t make out anything in the almost liquid forrest light, diffused through layers of canopy, but then she spotted a green that wasn’t the green of foliage, wasn’t the green of soft sunlight through trees. As though noticing it woke up the forces that lived within her, as soon as her brain processed what she was looking at, a sharp pain shot down her arm and crackled, her hand spitting the same sort of green light in small arcs across her palm, between her fingers.

“I suppose we could all use an excuse to stretch our legs,” the Inquisitor said, giving her left hand a vigorous shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break in posting. Been in a weird (not bad, just weird) headspace the last couple of days where I've only wanted to read except that I'm supposed to start working on an article and I have to do my taxes and I have to email my beta and I might start writing science articles for a zine again -
> 
> So, there's that. In reality, that is going to take no time, I'm not on any strict deadlines (okay except for the taxes thing) and all of this is very low to no pressure but the fact that it exists at all and all I want to do is read books about cats is not really jiving right now. I actually have almost ten more chapters of You Look written, though, I just really haven't opened up my computer to post anything.
> 
> But yes, there should be another chapter up on Sunday, which will be Easter for some of you, so I hope you enjoy a little treat. For me it will be sitting at home an eating pizza day, but then, that's most Sundays.


	36. Let's Get This Over With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Using the Anchor didn’t always leave her in pain, but for whatever reason, this time it did.

Using the Anchor didn’t always leave her in pain, but for whatever reason, this time it did. The rift, she found, had seemed larger, deeper somehow, and when she swung back up onto her steed, even the clenching of her fingers around the reigns sent a shock through her left arm. The Anchor was done crackling and fizzing now, and left her feeling almost empty and cold. She felt that more often now, felt like the Anchor was boring deeper inside of her somehow, even though if she pressed her thumb and forefinger to the back of her hand and her palm, she could feel the hard stone there, like something she could almost pick at, pry out. But she knew its magic ran much deeper, knew it would never be as simple as gouging into the flesh of her hand and pulling the artifact from the meat.

And if she did that, if she couldn’t close the rifts, what good was she, anyway?

Biting into her bottom lip to bring herself back to the present, she pressed her heels into the sides of her horse and waved her hand over her head, summoning the party forward. 

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, more to herself than to anyone listening, more even to the Anchor, and for a split second she had the distinct impression that it was listening.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry this has taken me as long as it's taken to get up. I've been plagued with migraines and trying to stay away from the internet for a number of reasons - I know most of you don't care a whit about any of that and there comes a point when they are just excuses, but here's the deal: I am taking an internet social media hiatus of a sort, with the express purpose of spending more time on all the things I've been meaning to do, from learning Swedish, to focusing more on my crafting business to - yes, you guessed it, writing. Now the first few projects I'm working on are non-fiction publications but I do want to get back to this, and to writing original fiction (maybe I don't know we'll see). Anyway, I don't want to make any promises about posting consistently, but with just a few chapters left to write, I'd like to have this wrapped up by the end of this month.
> 
> Again, sorry guys. Have been in a weird brain space lately. Slowly trying to pull myself back out.


	37. As Does Orlais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She squeezed shut her eyes and shook the paranoia from her mind. She was tired, and the pain in her hand was playing games with her.

Sera was still muttering behind her about demons and magic when they came upon the Orlesian camp. It wasn’t huge, but it was well-established for how quickly it must have been set up. If the messenger, much faster on their feet than the frankly lumbering party of Evelyn, her people, and a dozen soldiers, had left Skyhold around the time the War Council had met yesterday, then they could have been to Halamshiral not too long after sunset. So in the space of a day, Gaspard had gathered men and supplies and trucked them out here carefully enough to not be noticed - hopefully, Evelyn thought - by Thibodeaux, and set up a camp that looked like it had been here for more than a week.

A sharp pain made her clench her left hand.

Unless, Evelyn thought, the camp had been here longer. Gaspard had kept things from her before…

No. That was ridiculous. The emperor would gain nothing from that level of deceit. That was not within the bounds of the game. That was conspiring with Corypheus outright. And she was sure Leliana’s agents could have at least discovered that. She squeezed shut her eyes and shook the paranoia from her mind. She was tired, and the pain in her hand was playing games with her.

The sky above was turning into a dusky haze as Evelyn dismounted and stretched. They’d been riding non-stop since closing the rift, and the welcoming campfires signaled to her brain that it was time to stop, time to rest, even if her brain sent back the thought that it might be wiser to attack by night. Gaspard or his men would be familiar with the area, the few more miles they had between the camp and Thibodeaux’s location. Making the first move, taking Thibodeaux’s people unawares, might be the only advantage the Inquisition would have, assuming they hadn’t been spotted already.

A soldier from the camp approached the party with a deep bow, a few of his fellow comrades trailing behind, and he offered to take their horses. Evelyn handed over her own reigns without a word and made for the grandest tent of the bunch. It was a rich royal purple with golden ropes and ties, and she figured it had to be Gaspard’s. Her brain was swimming, a mix of tactics and emotions. Take Thibodeaux’s compound now, take it by surprise, have it done, and take your leave. Wait, rest, sleep, eat, do it in the morning when you’re stronger, when your hand hurts less and you’ve had time to plan. 

“Inquisitor! You’re looking lovely this evening.” A figure stepped out of the tent, bathed in shadows and conflicting light from campfires, all of it obscuring his face, but from his voice and his swagger Evelyn knew it could only be the emperor.

She tried hard to squeeze the sleep from her eyes as she answered, “Emperor. Thank you for meeting us here.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. Some of your soldiers and spies are already settled in. They await only your command. As does Orlais,” he said, and swept his hand out, indicating the encampment all around them.

She winced, but steeled herself. “Alright, then, Gaspard. You’re the chevalier here: what’s our next move?” She was within arm’s reach of him now, and away from Halamshiral, away from Val Royeaux, Evelyn once more saw his maskless face, his grey eyes glinting in the firelight.

“Come inside, Inquisitor, and have a seat. Have a drink. You’ve been riding for hours.”

And she had at that, so for as much as she wanted to protest, as much as she wanted to get on with it - even if “it” was deciding they wouldn’t move until daybreak - she followed him in, knowing that accepting his hospitality, accepting his food and drink, would put a significant amount of time and uncomfortable conversation between the present and any real decision making. She only hoped that, given the current situation, there would be no more discussion of partnerships of any kind. At least not tonight. Preferably not ever, but at least not tonight.


	38. Let's Figure This Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hope your journey was not unpleasant, Inquisitor,” Gaspard said, pulling a seat alongside hers, a drink in his own hand.

Though the air outside had been warm enough, inside the tent it was almost cozy. There was no open flame, of course, not inside the tent, but there were plenty of small oil lamps and thick wax candles on every available surface. The space was large, but not overly so - Evelyn thought that if she laid down, she could fit four, maybe five of her lengths across the middle of the square. But it was jammed with… well, things. Desks and tables, chests and casks. The Inquisitor felt bad for whatever poor beasts had had to lug all of these unnecessary fixtures here, but immediately grateful for the cushioned seat that she allowed herself to plop gracelessly down on. Within moments, a chilled glass of golden wine was in her hand.

“I hope your journey was not unpleasant, Inquisitor,” Gaspard said, pulling a seat alongside hers, a drink in his own hand.

She shook her head. “Mostly uneventful. One small rift,” she said blandly, and if she had said it to anyone in her party, anyone at Skyhold, they would have nodded and thought nothing of it, but as the emperor’s eyes fixed on hers, and the drifted slowly down to her hand, she realized she had made a mistake, however small. “It was nothing,” she amended, but Gaspard’s attention was already drawn.

“A miracle,” he said, and she sensed something like an honest awe in his voice.

“I don’t -” she began, but it was fruitless.

“They say she spoke to you,” Gaspard probed, but Evelyn had heard it all before.

“She didn’t. It wasn’t Andraste,” she said decisively. She didn’t add that she didn’t believe in that sort of thing anyway.

“You’re certain?”

“I am.” Leliana would kill her. Josephine would kill her. Tearing down her visage as the Herald of Andraste, some divine messenger, was not exactly the image they were going for. But it was her image, and here, speaking to the most powerful man in Orlais, she didn’t mean to posture or lie. And that, she realized, was why she would never be any good at politics - and she found a certain amount of pride in the failure. If that was what being a good politician meant, she was happy to fail.

But the look Gaspard was giving her said he didn’t believe her, despite her protests, and Evelyn gave a small sigh. She was used to it. People unfailingly believed what they wanted to believe. 

Outside the tent, she heard Sera’s wild laughter and found herself longing to know what the archer was up to, what hijinx were ensuing in small woman’s wake. Sera was in a camp full of nobles and if Evelyn knew anything, it’s that Sera could not and would not be tamed, not for love or money.

As if in answer, the sound of Cassandra’s directed grumblings followed some moments later, and unwittingly, Evelyn smiled.

Gaspard’s sidelong glance at her brought the Inquisitor back to reality, and smile lost some of its shine, but didn’t die entirely. Evelyn took a sip of her wine and stood - or sat, at least - her ground.

“Alright, Emperor. Let’s figure this out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Wait four months to post another chapter of the story? Never.
> 
> Anyway, I'm posting this just to put some feelers out there, see if anyone is still interested in this sort of thing. There's more written but it's not finished. I hate that I haven't been writing lately (and here I am, on my last day of vacation, having written nothing) but I think I might wanna try NaNo again this year to scour the rust off, if I can.
> 
> Anyway, if you're looking for a better story to check out, go hit up Inquisition, Indiana. This one's just fluff.


	39. If I Might?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Emperor Gaspard, while I do realize the validity of your arguments - both political and, er, personal -” she said the last word at a much lower volume than she had previously been using, “I just… I can’t…”

Evelyn felt like they had been looking at maps for hours, and the level of oil in the lamps in the room around her seemed to confirm this suspicion. But they were getting things done. Cassandra had joined them, as well as some of Gaspard’s best men, and they had decided that they would move just before dawn, and arrive at Thibodeaux’s location at first light, hopefully retaining the element of surprise. If not, they had enough good people and enough information about the location - an abandoned estate in a small valley just on the edge of The Dales - to still retain an advantage. Along the Imperial highway it would take them perhaps an hour to arrive; if they stayed low, traveled carefully through the countryside, perhaps two. Though it was slower, no one disagreed that this was the better option. Once all the logistics were plotted out, they were ready to go. Gaspard was going over troop movements with his men, and Evelyn dismissed Cassandra with instructions that she should make sure that their soldiers, Cullen’s soldiers, had all been properly briefed. Evelyn had no doubt that they were, but it never hurt to give the troops a refresher - and it never hurt to give Cassandra something to do.

After that, Evelyn’s job was done. She made for the open flap of the tent, hoping to get at least a few hour’s rest before she woke before dawn and got back on her horse. She made a mental note to thank Dennett for training her charger so well; on a more unruly creature, she knew her back would be in ten times the agony that it was right now. Which wasn’t to say that she was entirely without complaint, but she had been on enough horses to know that it could be worse. Much worse.

“Inquisitor, if I might?”

“Blast it, Gaspard,” Evelyn breathed to herself, but painted on what she hoped was at least an indifferent face as she turned to meet the Emperor. “Yes?”

“I was hoping we might…” and he waved his hand out in a grand gesture to indicate stepping outside, opening themselves up to the world, and to further discussion.

In the instant Evelyn’s mind wrapped around this, she felt as though she had been hit with a brick of exhaustion, but any pleas from her of, “Tomorrow, Gaspard,” would only be delaying the inevitable. Surely his troops would not turn around in the middle of the night and make for Val Royeaux if she used this moment to give the Emperor the bad news. He was Orlesian, not a petty child - not that there was much difference, the tired and petty part of her mind retorted, but she hoped that there was enough.

“Yes, alright,” Evelyn conceded, and stepped out of the tent, stretching out her back as she breathed in the fragrant night air.

They walked slowly, and with a hesitance that felt like confidence, Gaspard began. “I need not introduce the subject matter, I think,” he said, and he was right; he didn’t.

So Evelyn went for it. “Emperor Gaspard, while I do realize the validity of your arguments - both political and, er, personal -” she said the last word at a much lower volume than she had previously been using, “I just… I can’t…” and for as much as she wanted to say it, the word “no” simply would not come out. As she dug down deep to build the phrase, the rejection, Gaspard used to space to speak.

“Is it because of the commander?”


	40. Only Being Honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Evelyn could reach out to strangle the Emperor of Orlais, an arrow sailed through the air, landing just at Gaspard’s feet.

The Inquisitor heard the words, but they didn’t immediately process - or they did, but she couldn’t imagine that the Emperor was actually saying the words that she had just heard. It was no longer a secret, what was between Cullen and her. But how had the news traveled so far already? Or had Gaspard always known, since that first night in the Winter Palace?

Evelyn hadn’t even noticed that her feet had stopped moving until she realized Gaspard was a few steps in front of her, but she made no move to catch up to him, and when he saw that she had stopped he only turned and said, “Come, now, Inquisitor.”

A flash of rage went through her and her eyes narrowed, she felt heat in her cheeks. She didn’t care that he knew, didn’t care who knew. But the fact that he did know, had known, and still made his ridiculous proposition enraged her. She tried to swallow it back down, tried to push the heat into her belly, tried to speak.

“It’s not -” she defended herself, defended Cullen. “No. It’s not because of the commander,” she insisted, because it hadn’t been, not at first. And in a way, a true and strong and important way, it still wasn’t. “The Inquisition will not join with Orlais, nor any other nation. We will support the good people of Thedas; we will not be swayed by offers of power and might. We only expect that those who want to fight the forces that threaten to tear apart the very nature of this world will assist us, and if they will not - if you will not - we only expect that you will prepare yourself for the consequences. And we will leave you to them if you subvert our cause or refuse our aid.”

Gaspard stood motionless for a moment, then realized he owed Evelyn an answer of some kind and loosened his stance, throwing in a little extra swagger as he rested the palm of his hand on the pommel of the sword that hung from his belt. “Inquisitor, I understand your reticence, but don’t throw this opportunity away for some Ferelden nobody, some disgraced templar -”

Before Evelyn could reach out to strangle the Emperor of Orlais, an arrow sailed through the air, landing just at Gaspard’s feet. The fletching shook in the air, making a soft swishing noise until the entire shaft grew still.

“Oi, Emperor Fancy-Pants,” said a voice from some yards away, and Gaspard whipped around as Evelyn let her eyes scan the darkness. She found Sera on a rock, holding her bow which was already strung with another arrow, “I think my ‘Quisitor told you no, yeah? An’ sounded like she gave you a pretty alright reason - not she even needed to, bein’ the Herald n’all.” Sera grasped bow and arrow in one hand leapt down off of the rock, standing inches from Gaspard and looking up into his face like he was no one, like she was about to start a bar fight. Evelyn wasn’t certain she wasn’t. “An’ maybe I shouldn’t, but that Ferelden nobody? He’s  _ her _ Ferelden nobody,” Sera jabbed a finger toward Evelyn like she was suddenly being accused, but in a way that was full only of love and respect. “I seem to remember,” she added, scratching her head with the point of the arrow, “that Captain Cully-Wully has a pompous title just like yours, Emperor. Something about commanding the Inquisition whose pants you’re just tryin’ to get into.” Sera shrugged, and bent forward to retrieve the arrow she had loosed. “‘Case you were wondering my opinion, is all.”

There was quiet laughter from behind her and Dorian stepped out of the shadows, clapping slowly and half-heartedly even though the amusement in his eyes was obvious.

“Well-said, Sera,” the mage said, almost too earnestly. 

“Shut it, you.”

Dorian put up his hands to show his innocence. “I was only being honest,” he replied, wounded.

Sera rolled her eyes and blew her bangs out of her face with a directed breath. She pointed at Gaspard one more time with the arrow only to say, “Watching you,” and then she turned on her heel and walked away.

Gaspard blinked quickly, his hands grasping helplessly at his sides, as he turned from Evelyn to Sera to Dorian and once more back to the Inquisitor. She only shrugged, as though conceding the archer’s point.

“Inquisitor! There you are!” said Cassandra, hurrying out of the darkness with the powerful strides that Evelyn would have known from a mile away.

“Here I am,” she admitted, her frown, only moments before fixed sternly on her face, almost unwillingly twisting up into a smile.

“I wanted to discuss a few things with you -” Cassandra began, and Dorian quickly cut her off, one fine eyebrow daringly cocked.

“Yes, I believe we all do,” he winked at Evelyn, who rolled her eyes at him.

“Well, Emperor,” the Inquisitor said, walking past Gaspard toward Cassandra and Dorian, “my people need me. See you bright and early,” and she slapped him chummily on the shoulder. She didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeejjjjj
> 
> So, much like a length of string, this author's note comes to you with two ends:
> 
> One: If you had been reading Inquisition, Indiana, the whole (un beta-read) version has now been posted up on Fanfiction.net. I will not be posting that version here; in fact, once the whole thing is beta-read, I will be replacing the current version on FF with the new version. If you have to know how it ends, it's, well, ended.
> 
> Two: I am currently in the process of writing the end to this here story. It's still unknotting itself, but we're almost there. I wrote two chapters last night, in which the Inquisitor is RAD AS HELL.


	41. Good Morning, Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn sat up with a start, her eyes still squeezed shut, not from sleep, but from a sharp bolt of pain above her right eye.

Evelyn spoke to Cassandra, spoke briefly to the troops, though the Seeker had done a fine job of that by herself. She gave Sera a fierce hug, making the elf’s ears turn pink either from embarrassment or lack of oxygen, and laid down in her tent, a small but cozy thing that the soldier’s had set up while she had been with Gaspard.

Gaspard. She was glad to get that off of her chest. Or, well, glad to have had Sera do it for her. Would their be pushback? Probably. But it was pushback that she could cope with after the immediate threat had been neutralized. And with all of Josephine’s work making alliances, unless Orlais renounced her, renounced the Inquisition outright, Evelyn figured that she would be fine. They would all be fine. She put her hands behind her head and stared up at the dark fabric of her tent, dark enough that it almost felt like her eyes were already closed…

“Evelyn?”

It was Dorian’s smooth voice from just outside her tent.

“Mmm?” she said, sleepily.

Dorian pulled aside the flap of her tent. He was bent down slightly, but his grey eyes flashed in the darkness and met hers.

“You’re happy, then?”

Evelyn rubbed her eyes and rose up onto an elbow. “That’s a strange question.”

“Well I absolutely think Gaspard would have been a terrible choice.”

“I’m glad we agree,” she said with a yawn. “I’m good, Dorian. I’m happy. I’m tired.”

“Understandably so,” he said, and started to release the fabric of the tent, but stopped, and quickly added, “Tell the commander to do something about his hair.” 

“I like his hair.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by an audibly judgemental, “Ah,” and the mage let go of the tent flap.

The exchange was so comfortable, so familiar, that Evelyn turned over and fell into an easy sleep.

 

* * *

  
  


“Good morning, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn sat up with a start, her eyes still squeezed shut, not from sleep, but from a sharp bolt of pain above her right eye. She whipped her hand up and pressed her hand hard on the spot, rubbing it roughly and sucking in deep breaths through her nose before she remembered - thought she remembered - that before her pain, someone had spoken. In the dark of the tent, she desperately reached for her staff and tried to summon some light, tried to open her eyes.

Kneeling before her bedroll, only feet away, there was a figure crouching in the darkness. She could make out nothing about the person though, so she gripped her staff more tightly, pushed more power into it despite her pain, and asked through gritted teeth, “Who…”

“Of course you wouldn’t know me, would you?” The figure spoke, a man’s voice, and the pain in her head swelled. Evelyn gave a rough grunt and the palm that pressed into her forehead drew closed, fingers curling into a fist, knuckles bearing down hard against her skin, her skull. The voice was Orlesian - had she been sold out? But no; it was entirely unfamiliar, and with her right eye closed, she tried to make out the features of the man. Somewhere in her brain, something was desperately trying to register, to become familiar. The man wore a mask, but it was slim, slender, not the larger affairs that covered the faces of most Orlesians nobility.

“I tried to get your attention, tried to speak with your commander, but your own shallow desires clearly outweighed my own. So now I’ve had to resort to… less accepted methods.”

Lord So and So. 

This was the young man who Evelyn had tugged Cullen away from at Halamshiral. The noble to whom she had handed her empty champagne glass.

This was Alexandre Thibodeaux.


	42. I Would Expect No Less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alright, Alexandre. Talk to me. What is it you want?”
> 
> “Freedom,” he said, and that one word was his entire answer.

Fist still kneading the thin flesh of her forehead, Evelyn said, calmly as she could, “Alright, Alexandre. Let’s talk about this.”

“Don’t patronise me, Inquisitor,” he said gently, and the pain in her skull tightened, pushing her close to some internal limit she didn’t know she had. She had been dimly aware but now Evelyn was certain the man was using blood magic, and she was, in this moment, defenseless. 

“Okay, okay. You’ve got me. I’m here. I’m listening. But if you don’t ease up,” she told him, “I’m going to scream. And others will come. And then you won’t able to talk to me alone. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” She said, eyes and teeth clenched, feeling like she was moments, seconds away from plunging her own hand into her brain to stop the pain. Her knees had pulled up to her chest and the fingers of her other hand threatened to snap her staff in half.

But slowly, after a pause, Alexandre nodded, and the pain in her head lessened - did not disappear, but lessened considerably. The man lowered himself down to the earth and sat at the foot of Evelyn’s bedroll. 

Taking in a deep breath, just to make sure the sensation - or lack of it - was real, the Inquisitor said, “Thank you. Am I to assume my camp is surrounded?”

“It has been since the Orlesians arrived. We’re not a subtle people,” he said with a laugh, as though the potential ambush and massacre of several dozen soldiers or more was a lark. But it was the strange morbidity of the situation that made Evelyn think that perhaps she could talk her way out of the situation, at least to get herself to place where she would have any kind of an even footing. After all, hadn’t she made jokes equally as black? But then came back the nagging notion that this man who sat cross-legged on the dirt before her was a blood mage. Did that make all the difference? Did it make any difference at all?

“I would expect no less,” she offered him, and the throb in her brain lessened a little more until it was just a swell of a headache, not even the worst hangover she’d ever had. Her knees relaxed and the cover she was sleeping under fell away from her chest as she stretched out and revealed her vulnerability to him. He didn’t need to be reminded of it, this she knew, but her own acknowledgement of it seemed to set the young man at ease, and only when it left him could Evelyn recognize the falseness of his previously casual pose, watching him now as his shoulders slumped a bit, as one leg stretched out along the earth.

“Alright, Alexandre. Talk to me. What is it you want?”

“Freedom,” he said, and that one word was his entire answer.

Evelyn blinked hard, not now from pain but from confusion. “I have - I have supported the mage rebellion,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully now, trying to discern what it was the young man was asking for exactly. “I have offered asylum to mages at Skyhold. I have turned no one away.”

Alexandre remained silent longer than Evelyn would have liked. She thought about summoning up more light from her staff but she did not wish to disturb the man further.

When he spoke, his voice was level, even, carefully metered, and entirely threatening.

“You expect me to believe that that’s all you can do?”

“I don’t - Alexandre, I  _ am _ a mage. Don’t you think if I could have done more, I would have by now?” She defended herself, but knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say, so Evelyn hastily added, “I’m in the middle of a war, here, Alexandre. Once we defeat Corypheus, I’ll have more resour -”

“Corypheus is the only one offering what I want! What mages want!” He rose to his knees and slammed his fists on the earth. “You expect me to believe that you, the Herald of Andraste, can do no better? Do not play games with me, Inquisitor!”

“I’m not the -” No. She shouldn’t tell him that. She took a deep breath instead. “Is that why you’ve sided with him, Alexandre? Because he’s offering you power?”

Even in the dim light, she could see his glare. “You have no idea, do you.” It wasn’t a question. “You have power over these - these people. You speak for Andraste. You speak for the maker. Corypheus cannot offer me that. But he has given me power, Inquisitor, that much is true.”

The swelling pain in her skull, in her brain returned.

“And I will use it.”


	43. She Opened Her Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more than a second could have passed since she had opened her eyes before the peace, the stillness were destroyed by an unsettling familiar sound from overhead: a shriek, a scream, a cry from a beast which she had already come face-to-face.

She thought it was the pain behind her eye that made her see white, thought that maybe Alexandre was inflicting real damage on her now, and she let go of her staff and clasped both hands over her eyes now, pressing her palms against the white, against the sharp pain a tremulous, thrumming, whooshing sound in her ears, a whipping - 

And in an instant it had stopped. Before she opened her eyes, she felt a sudden cool breeze, a silence, and most of all, darkness. She drew her hands back down to her sides, found her staff on the ground where she had left it, found that the pain in her head had diminished nearly to nothing. So she opened her eyes.

Her tent was gone, and so was Alexandre, and for a moment she was struck with the memory of having been thrust into the wrong time, the wrong place, but as her eyes readjusted to the midnight gloom she realized she was still in her bedroll, her trunk at her side, but her tent was gone, ripped away by what she assumed must have been Alexandre’s magic. Where the young man had gone she could not say, but for a moment she allowed herself to find space inside her head again, space without the pain he had inflicted.

No more than a second could have passed since she had opened her eyes before the peace, the stillness were destroyed by an unsettling familiar sound from overhead: a shriek, a scream, a cry from a beast which she had already come face-to-face.

Corypheus’ dragon circled overhead.

 

* * *

  
  


The dragon screamed again as she hastily dressed, pulled on her boots, left most everything she had brought with her in the small trunk that had remained by her bedside. Some yards away, she could see figures running towards her, identifying them by their shapes, their gaits: Cassandra, Sera, Dorian. They were followed by a small group of soldiers, and Evelyn acknowledged them with a wave before swinging her head around to survey as much as she could see of the edges of the camp; it was too dark to see the fighting, but from the edge of the camp she could hear voices, could hear the clanking of armor. Was it combat? Or was it just the dragon, rousing the troops?

“Inquisitor!” She heard Cassandra cry as the Seeker closed the distance between them. “Are you alright? We saw a flash -”

“Alexandre!” She called back, “Did you see where he went?”

Cassandra looked to Dorian and even Sera shook her head. 

“He can’t have gotten far; he was just here!” Evelyn insisted and turned around in a circle, scanning the darkness for the man. Why had she taken the time to dress? She should have gone after him as soon as she realized she could see, as soon as she had her wits about her. But no, she had let him - what, escape? Where would he have gone? Would he have left his own red templars to fight the Inquisition, the Orlesian army? 

Sera rolled her shoulders and said, “Didn’t see nothin’.”

“It was - before I dressed…” but she let the thread die. She had wasted too much time, and he was gone.

“His templars - how far have they gotten? How many are we fighting?”

Cassandra blinked hard.

“There’s no one here, Inquisitor.”

“Well, besides the dragon,” Dorian said casually. “So one.”

Evelyn shook her head forcefully. Of course there was no one, no, even if the Orleasians had come blowing horns and beating drums, Leliana’s men, Cullen’s soldiers, they would have found anyone laying in wait to ambush them. There was no one here. There never had been.

And Alexandre Thibodeaux - had she been…

Dreaming. Not just dreaming, no, not some meaningless nightmare. He had been there, but not there. He wanted to know that he was waiting for her, that he was ready for her at the estate, and when her troops marched on him, he would be there, and it was too late to talk.

“Inquisitor, we have to do something!” Cassandra raised her voice over the dragon’s cries, breaking Evelyn out of her reverie. 

“Y-yes. Get the thing on the ground. We’ve got more troops with swords than archers and mages combined. We take the dragon, and then we take the estate.”

Indeed. There would certainly be no talking now.


	44. Something Bigger to Worry About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaning on her staff with one hand, rubbing her cheek with the other, Evelyn insisted, “We don’t have time -” but she stopped herself, gentling. “Look, Dorian. It’s all I have to go on. I promise you, I know - I think - he’s gonna be at that estate until he has a chance to talk to me.”

There was an earth-shaking thud, and the dragon landed, just out of sight of Evelyn in the dark. She’d been face-to-face with the thing before on that fateful night in Haven and before she could suppress it, a cold chill ran all through her bones and she stalled her march toward the thing, Cassandra and the others leaving her behind.

She clenched her jaw. This would not be like Haven. Thibodeaux had to be close. He had to be in that estate. And he knew she was coming for him.

Well, she didn’t want to disappoint. 

She pumped her legs now, catching up with her group, arms swinging powerfully, forcefully as she strode toward the dragon at full tilt. 

“Are we ready?” she called.

“Ready,” they answered as one. 

“Cassandra, you make sure Gaspard and his soldiers know what to do. This is no ordinary dragon. You’ve seen what it’s capable of.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

“Dorian and Sera, do whatever you can to keep it on the ground. We’ve got fifty men or more who can hit it if it’s not in flight. Once it takes off, we’re down to the three of us and some archers, and I don’t want to waste time. Remember: Thibodeaux is the real target. Once we’re done here, head to the estate. Don’t wait for me if you can’t. We need to surround the place. He’s waiting for me - he won’t leave until I get there. But after that, all bets are off. We need to be in place before that happens.”

They nodded their understanding and Sera dashed off ahead of them, while Cassandra turned to find Gaspard. But Dorian hung back.

“What is it?” Evelyn asked him, slowing her pace to match his own.

“How…” he said slowly at first, then started again, “How do you know he’s waiting for you?”

Evelyn stopped, looking towards the dragon. She could see its flapping wings now, black and sickly even against the dark green of the trees. “He spoke to me,” she said, still looking ahead, away from Dorian.

“He ...spoke to you?” Dorian’s hands were on his hips, but he had discarded his arrogance for concern.

“When I thought he was in my tent.”

“You were dreaming.”

“I wasn’t - I don’t know, maybe I was…”

But Dorian humored her, and asked, “If he spoke to you, what did he say?”

She cast out her hand, letting it flop to her side with a loud smack and a clank of armor against armor. “He said I wasn’t doing enough for the mages.” It sounded trite when she said it out loud. 

“Are you sure,” Dorian said slowly, carefully choosing his words, “that maybe… you… manifested him, somehow?” He ran his fingers across his moustache as he waited for Evelyn to answer, his grey eyes flashing in the darkness.

“You think it was guilt? You think I feel guilty?” she answered, her voice rising in volume and pitch.

“I didn’t say -”

Leaning on her staff with one hand, rubbing her cheek with the other, Evelyn insisted, “We don’t have time -” but she stopped herself, gentling. “Look, Dorian. It’s all I have to go on. I promise you, I know - I think - he’s gonna be at that estate until he has a chance to talk to me.”

“Alright, Inquisitor,” he allowed.

There was a shrieking noise that pierced the air, so loud and grating that Evelyn winced.

“Right now,” Dorian said, “I think we’ve got something, er, bigger to worry about.”

She nodded, and he jogged off ahead, but Evelyn stayed behind just a moment. She felt the sharp pain again, the same pain she had felt in her tent, but this time it wasn’t in her head. 

It was in her hand.


	45. Biding Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn heard the twang of the archer’s bows snapping as one, and it shook her back to reality, even as the scream of the dragon pierced her mind. She shook her left hand hard and ran full-tilt toward the chaos.

Evelyn heard the twang of the archer’s bows snapping as one, and it shook her back to reality, even as the scream of the dragon pierced her mind. She shook her left hand hard and ran full-tilt toward the chaos. 

Some of Gaspard’s soldiers had ropes tied around the dragon’s right foreleg and were trying to hold the beast down. It wasn’t the method Evelyn would have used, she thought, but it was proving to be at least moderately effective, at least with two dozen soldiers holding the rope. Evelyn had no doubt, however, that if the dragon gave a strong enough flap of its wings, it could lift the men off of the ground, but with the archers’ arrows piercing the black membrane, she didn’t think the dragon could make it very far. She nearly thought, as she scrutinized the beast’s face, she could see it weighing its options.

Was it biding time?

Making them stall?

Over the tops of the trees, Evelyn saw the first shimmer of daybreak.

She took a few steps back, assessing her position in the woods.

Locating the camp in the dim but warming light, she sussed out the location of the road. And the estate.

The soldiers, and her friends, had the dragon under control. They would be fine.

Evelyn turned on her heel and walked away.

Behind her, she heard the dragon scream.


	46. I Know You Can Hear Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She walked up the stone steps, her boots pounding against them, metal on her shins clanking almost musically, the newly-risen sun making them shine like fire.

The sun was just barely risen when Evelyn walked up to the estate. The air was crisp, and dew clung to the long grasses that had grown up around the stone walls that surrounded the small complex. It was in an early state of disrepair, but in the gentle morning, it almost looked picturesque. A breeze blew and lifted Evelyn’s auburn hair, fluttering around the back of her neck. For a moment, she closed her eyes, and with the morning sunlight on her face, she breathed in the stillness, the fragrant forest air. 

Then she reached her left hand to her right side, and whipped the lazurite hilt across her body, the glowing mana-blade burning in the sun.

She walked up the stone steps, her boots pounding against them, metal on her shins clanking almost musically, the newly-risen sun making them shine like fire.

“Alexandre!” she called out to the walls that rose before her. “I know you’re here!” Evelyn slashed her blade, and the mana crackled, whipping against the air. “I know you can hear me!” The estate looked deserted but something in her chest told her it was far from. She clenched her teeth hard. “Corypheus can’t give you what you want! Corypheus doesn’t want to free mages! He doesn’t care!” She ascended the final step and walked toward the door of the manor house. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself,” she insisted. “He can use you, and that’s what he’s doing. You’re smarter than this. You know it’s true.” She stood in front of the blue door, half-threatening, half-pleading. “He can’t help you and he won’t. But I - I can try.”

But there was no movement inside the manor, not even as Evelyn paused to take a long, slow breath, letting it out through her teeth.

“Fine, you son of a bitch.”

Flicking her staff across her, she caught it in the left between her palm and the blade’s hilt, and with her right hand, she blew the door in.


	47. I Knew You Would Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was waiting for her.

He was waiting for her.

He didn’t flinch when the door blew open, swung wildly on its hinges and smacked into the wall, denting the plaster there.

He didn’t move when Evelyn kicked debris out of her way, clearing a path along the cluttered floor, broken vases and shatter tiles littering the ground in front of her.

He never even looked up.

Alexandre Thibodeaux only sat there, his back to the Inquisitor, and faced a fire that burned weakly in a grate, fighting now to give off more light even than the small slivers of sun that found their way in through the shuttered windows.

She picked her way through the rubble, finding careful footing in the wan light. Each step, each subtle crunch was deafening in the silence after the crash of the door. Holding her staff an inch or so above the floor, Evelyn alternated between watching her step and watching to see if Alexandre did so much as lift his head.

He didn’t.

She wasn’t sure if it was the strange way the light filtered up from the fires, down from the windows, but laying her eyes now on Thibodeaux’s face, he didn’t look like the confident, cocky, dangerous young man from inside her head, from the Winter Palace. He looked small. Hunched. Tired.

He looked unwell.

“Alexandre,” Evelyn said, her voice barely more than a whisper, afraid almost to break the silence, the stillness of the room.

He craned his neck up, finally meeting the her eyes. “Inquisitor,” his voice sounding sandy, burnt somehow, and strangely inflected with an unsettling hopeful joy. “I knew you would come.” 


	48. She Almost Didn't Want to Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn took a knee beside the small, cushioned chair where Alexandre was slouched, her back to the fire. She laid her staff down, rested her arm across the top of her thigh, and said, “The mages, you mean.”

Alexandre was thin, his skin - honey-colored in the Winter Palace, in Evelyn’s vision - was nearly translucent, eyes sunken and glassy, but all too vivid, too alive. Evelyn knew that brightness. It was of magic, some sickly magic, and with the flash of recognition, a shock shot through her hand and up her arm. Was this really the same young man from whom she had stolen Cullen away mere weeks ago? He looked as though he had been slowly wasting away for a much longer time than that.

“Oh, Alexandre,” Evelyn groaned. “What’s happened to you?”

The smile he gave in answer was the smile a belligerent teenager gives a parent, meant to inspire confidence and succeeding in instilling fear.

“Freeing us.”

Evelyn took a knee beside the small, cushioned chair where Alexandre was slouched, her back to the fire. She laid her staff down, rested her arm across the top of her thigh, and said, “The mages, you mean.”

“Of course. Of course I do,” there was such awe in his voice, such fervor, and the contrast between his appearance and his words startled her every time he spoke.

He leaned forward a bit in the chair now, more of the dim firelight catching his face, and Evelyn saw that he was sweating, was glossy with it.

She almost didn’t want to ask the question, almost didn’t want to know the answer, but she had to, didn’t she? “How, Alexandre? What have you done for them? For us?”

Though his movements had been only the subtle shifting of his body in the chair before, it was clear when he froze, when he held his breath, searching for an answer. After a pause, his eyes began to dart about the room, as though a response should be close at hand if only he could see it. Slowly, he brought his hands up to his hair and pulled it tightly back away from his scalp. “I…” he began to say, straightening up his hunched spine, the finery he wore - dirty now, buttons missing - sliding down along his too-thin frame, the cloth sagging at his sides and shoulders.

Rising to his full height, though, Evelyn could see the man he might have been, had once been, could see a more familiar form of life spring back to his face even through his confusion, or because of it. A moment of self-awareness struck the young man, and he now seemed to tower over Evelyn, even from the chair.

“I…” he said again.

“You supplied the red templars with lyrium,” she said, keeping her voice low, non-threatening. “That’s… not exactly good for mages.”

“No…” he seemed to agree for a moment, but then repeated, “no.” This time it was a denial. 

How could this be the same man who, only hours ago, had been inside her head? So strong, so confident, so… together?

“You did, Alexandre. Corypheus asked you -”

Something seized the man and made Evelyn stop what she was saying, stop dead. Slowly, she moved her hand away from the top of her leg and reached toward her staff, putting weight her toes, ready to stand at a moment’s notice. 

But what was it? What had moved in him? It was only a flash, and now that she looked at him again, she saw nothing, felt silly for grabbing so instinctively for her weapon when all he had done was look at her.

Had he looked at her?

His eyes, his face were still turned away, but she could have sworn -

“Shit,” she muttered.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t cleverness that had brought her here.

It was a trap.

It was a trap and she had walked confidently, boldly into it.

She had been on the trail of Alexandre so determinedly, so single-mindedly, that she never would have considered a waking dream of her quarry anything but a gift, a godsend. She had followed the crumbs that had been laid out for her, never questioning a single piece. And when he questioned her commitment to the mages… she fell for it. Hard.

It wasn’t her wiles that had brought her here.

It wasn’t the collective ability of her closest advisors, two-thirds of whom had repeatedly told her to slow down, to gather more information, to put together the bits and pieces they had collected.

It wasn’t cleverness that had brought her here.

It was pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap between posting this chapter and the next. Haven't been writing much lately. Weird autumn nostalgia sadness headspace. I do have seven (?) more chapters already written but I hate to use up my whole backlog, especially this close to NaNoWriMo (hey guess what, I'm writing a sequel to Inquisition, Indiana!). I'll try to be better but I might disappear during the month of November if I don't have any other chapters saved up.


	50. You Should be Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her staff was in her hand now, her fingers curling around the familiar wood, warmth seeming to radiate up through hand. Her left hand no longer hung limply had her side but was tensed, ready to snap for her blade at a moment’s notice.

“Flames,” she cursed under her breath. Corypheus had toyed with her, had drawn her out, had never even had to show his own face. He sent his dragon to distract them, he had drawn her out, gotten her alone, sent this poor young man to - to -

“I’m sorry, Alexandre,” she said to the man.

He turned his head slowly, his eyes finally fixing on hers. For a moment, he was expressionless. And then his face shifted, as though every muscle were moving deliberately, purposefully into an expression of incredulousness, of outrage.

“You’re sorry?” he said softly, but the bitterness on his breath was poison, “You’re sorry?” 

“I am,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner,” and she was. But when she saw the shifting movement without movement cross his face again, she knew that in this moment, she was too late for Alexandre Thibodeaux. 

Her staff was in her hand now, her fingers curling around the familiar wood, warmth seeming to radiate up through hand. Her left hand no longer hung limply had her side but was tensed, ready to snap for her blade at a moment’s notice.

“You should be sorry,” said a voice that was not Alexandre’s, and the figure in the chair didn’t move, but in the dim light, it seemed to grow, seemed to rise, even as the body was still, static. The pain in her head blossomed again, in that singing, cloying way that sharp pain can, tugging her toward the source of the pain even as she knew she should pull away, and something deeper, something more sinister, familiar in its core, tried to draw some part of her out as it tried to work its own way in.

Evelyn closed her eyes and bit her lip, tightening her grip on the staff, and when she opened them again, Alexandre was gone.


	51. Wouldn't She, Though

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t think she…” the words came out of Dorian’s mouth before he could stop them, and he cast his gaze towards the copse of trees that had marked the beginning of the wooded route they had been planning to take to the estate. He didn’t have to say anymore before Sera blurted, “She wouldn’t, not Evvy. Not without us.”

It was Sera who noticed that Evelyn was gone.

She had whipped around, leaping off of a high rock, and ran at full-tilt away from the dragon to get a better vantage point. The beast had lept up, knocking over a group of Orlesian soldiers, and turned a quarter-circle, which had ruined Sera’s previous perch, since the thing’s face was now, well, facing her.

But as she ran past Cassandra, ran past Dorian, even ran past Gaspard, she kept looking for Evelyn’s face, kept looking to see if the Inquisitor could use her creepy Anchor, could work some of her magic on this terrible thing.

And she couldn’t find her. Evelyn was nowhere to be found.

“Hey,” she said, softly at first from behind the safety of Cassandra’s shield, her panicked scramble for higher ground having slowed and stopped with this new and troubling confusion, and then, as her eyes never did find purchase on the Inquisitor, she shouted over the din of the battle, “Hey!”

The Seeker quickly whipped around and saw Sera just standing, bow not even raised to fight. Cassandra lowered her blade and took a few powerful steps toward the archer, her enraged face asking,  _ What are you doing _ ?

“Where’s Inky?”

“Where’s…”

Dorian took a few backward strides toward the women, still firing shot after shot over the heads of the soldiers, hitting the dragon even though his eyes were focused on the mass of bodies clustered around the beast, the last of the fallen Orlesian forces now risen and attacking their opponent with their full strength once more.

“Where’s Evelyn?” He echoed Sera’s concern now, letting his eyes flick to Cassandra, to Sera, and back to the crowd. The dragon let out a shriek and jabbed it’s snout at a soldier who had just stabbed the creature with a spiked lance. The sound of the beast’s jaws snapping closed echoed in the crisp air.

“What do you mean, where’s Evelyn! She must be here somewhere!” and Cassandra took a few more steps back from the fray, surveying the group as Dorian and Sera had done, but she could find no red-headed mages in the chaos.

“Where  _ is _ she…” Cassandra muttered, the leather of her gloves creaking on the hilt of her blade as her fist tightened nervously. The dragon jumped again, and the ground shook, a group of Gaspard’s fighters backing toward the three Inquisition members now.

“You don’t think she…” the words came out of Dorian’s mouth before he could stop them, and he cast his gaze towards the copse of trees that had marked the beginning of the wooded route they had been planning to take to the estate. He didn’t have to say anymore before Sera blurted, “She wouldn’t, not Evvy. Not without us.”

“Wouldn’t she, though,” said Cassandra in a flat tone.

The three exchanged a glance that said that she almost certainly would.

Dorian closed his eyes, rolling his lips inward to bite them. “Fuck.”

Over the noise of the fight, they heard a horse whinny, and turned to see a rider on horseback approaching quickly. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra said, squinting against the morning sun to identify the approaching figure.

“Oh it would be,” muttered Dorian, turning away and putting his hand on his forehead. Sera frowned deeply, uncertain of what to do. She pulled the string on her bow and let it twang uselessly.

The horse strode a few more quick paces and the commander lept off of the  back, walking up to the three of them, his eyes going from the group to the fight and back to them.

Cullen rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, cocking an eyebrow. “It doesn’t look like I’m about to get good news.”

As if in answer, the dragon screamed, and with a furious beat of its black wings, it leapt into the air, shook off the soldiers who still tried to hold it down, and flew away.


	52. She Gave Us Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She’s at the estate,” Dorian said quietly, leaning heavily on his staff.
> 
> Cullen whipped around. “What, Pavus?”
> 
> The mage clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, looking skyward as he said, “She said… she told me she had… a vision.”
> 
> The commander stared him down hard. “A vision.”

“What do you mean, you don’t  _ know _ ?” Cullen spat at Dorian, his arms flung out wide and imploring.

“We - we were fighting the dragon,” Sera said, trying to defer some of Cullen’s rage away from Dorian. 

“She sent us on ahead of her, Commander;” said Cassandra, “she gave us orders.”

Cullen sucked in a deep breath and brought a gloved hand quickly to his forehead, pulling his curly hair back roughly as he turned away from them. He released the breath through his teeth. “And you have no idea where she might have gone?”

“She’s at the estate,” Dorian said quietly, leaning heavily on his staff.

Cullen whipped around. “What, Pavus?”

The mage clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, looking skyward as he said, “She said… she told me she had… a vision.”

The commander stared him down hard. “A vision.”

“Yes, she - look, I don’t claim to understand what she told me. All I know is, just after we spotted the dragon, which is to say, just after it destroyed our camp,” he added this last piece of information with a growl, “she ran up to us and asked where the templars were.”

Cullen blinked. “What templars?”

“Precisely,” answered Dorian. “She said she thought we were fighting templars, and then she asked where Alexandre Thibodeaux had gone.”

“She asked what?” His face was incredulous and he seemed to want to say more.

“Believe me, it’s as strange as it sounds, Commander.” Dorian shook his head. “She told me afterward that she was certain he would be waiting for her at the estate until she arrived. She said he wanted to talk to her. That was the last I saw of her.”

Cullen’s mouth hung open, looking between all three of them, but Sera and Cassandra had nothing else to offer, the archer kicking forlornly at the dirt. The commander sought to find words, holding up his hands with fingers splayed. “Well -” he finally managed, giving his head a shake. “Whoever she’s gone to see, it’s not Alexandre Thibodeaux. He’s been dead for three years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering taking a real hiatus from this for a while. I'm playing it pretty fast and loose at the moment anyway. But with NaNo fast approaching (and don't worry, in case you missed it, that will be more DA fic) and another Lovecraftian fic I just started on, I think I might let this percolate for a little while. There are definitely some things about it I'm really not liking, but at the same time, it's so close to the end. (No spoilers.)


	53. But What Could It Be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don’t like this,” Sera said, her words almost whipped away by the speed of their movement.

As it turned out, Leliana had had such a hard time finding Alexandre Thibodeaux because, like any sensible person, she’d only inquired about the status of living persons. It wasn’t until one of her agents had spoken with a family member of a deceased Alexandre Thibodeaux that Leliana had any inkling that something might be amiss. Even then, it hadn’t been cause for immediate alarm. “Alexandre” wasn’t an uncommon name, and there were plenty of Thibodeauxs about. But the more she had her agents look, the less she found. Leliana was operating under the assumption that the name was a pseudonym, until she realized that someone going by the name had been at the very party that she had attended at the Winter Palace, and that others at Halamshiral had seen a young man they thought to be the former Alexandre Thibodeaux. She had sent Cullen out after a raven had come in with reports that that same young man had been seen elsewhere by those who had known the former Alexandre Thibodeaux and suggested that he might not be so former. Given the nature of what they were dealing with, Leliana thought - and Cullen agreed - that getting this information to the Orlesian camp sooner rather than later would be a worthwhile endeavor.

Cullen related all of this information to Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian as best as he could while shouting backwards on horse as the three tried to keep up with his frantic dash to the estate.

“But what could it be?” Cassandra shouted over the sound of wind and hoof beats. “Surely it’s a look-alike? A farce?”

“I don’t like this,” Sera said, her words almost whipped away by the speed of their movement.

“I’m not sure, Cassandra,” Cullen called back. “I - I honestly don’t know.”

“I think I might,” Dorian said, flicked his reigns to pick up speed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've decided I'm not going to do NaNo this year. I just don't need the extra stress this time around. I am going to focus on writing, though, so I'm gonna continue to update this slowly; however, I've got two (or three?!) other projects I want to work on, plus a bunch of crafting I have to do for the holidays, so this will be irregular at best. It, will, however, still go on.


	54. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staring the Pride demon in the face, Evelyn felt all of those things a hundredfold; an unwellness washed over her and though she knew it was entirely in her mind, she had to remind herself to stand upright, to keep a grip on her staff, to keep her fingers reaching for the blade instead of closing her eyes and succumbing to the nausea that was winding its way down from her mind to her stomach.

“Well, this is a bit literal,” Evelyn said, taking one step backward, and then another, and then another.

Alexandre’s face had changed first, sinking, shaping itself into something different, and Evelyn expected a revenant, or an arcane horror, though how a corpse could have fooled her - how it could have spoken with her, leached its way into her dreams - she couldn’t say. But no.

Where once sat Alexandre - or the body that looked like Alexandre - now towered a demon that Evelyn couldn’t help but feel was partially her own creation. It was a tall, lumbering thing, too wide around the shoulders and with too, too many eyes and scales that protruded from it like some kind of organic armour, and at the same time, nothing about the thing was natural.

Evelyn had always had a love-hate relationship with the Fade. She loved it because that was where her strength really came from, and sometimes, that was where she felt the most safe. But there was something about the way the edges didn’t quite ever join up that made her dizzy, something about the geometry of the place that made her feel wrong in her core, made her feel physically and existentially unwell. Despite her magic, despite her power there, that uneasy sense of misalignment never sat easily with her.

Staring the Pride demon in the face, Evelyn felt all of those things a hundredfold; an unwellness washed over her and though she knew it was entirely in her mind, she had to remind herself to stand upright, to keep a grip on her staff, to keep her fingers reaching for the blade instead of closing her eyes and succumbing to the nausea that was winding its way down from her mind to her stomach.

As she stared up at the thing’s massive bulk, it spoke.

“You never once questioned,” it said, the sound of its voice like poison in her ears.

“I -” she began to answer, but she knew that the worst thing she could do, short of really listening to it, was respond. She should be attacking it; there would be no reasoning with the thing. She did not need or want to know what it had to say. She had been used, she had been made an example of. The red templars were a set up; the lyrium could be coming from anywhere. There never was any Alexandre Thibodeaux, or if there had been, he was long gone. The demon wouldn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know, hadn’t figured out in the five minutes since she’d blown down the estate door. 

Evelyn told herself that she didn’t want to attack because she didn’t want to make the first move. If she kept it talking, she bought herself time. Others would come; once the dragon was dealt with, her friends would be here. But what it boiled down to was that she was afraid, and she was ashamed. How much time, how many resources had they wasted because of her? What might Corypheus have achieved while they were looking the other way, while they focused on a Pride demon, a minion at best, but a powerful enough one that Evelyn almost certainly didn’t stand a chance. 

She was going to die here, and it was all her fault.

Evelyn got the feeling that if a Pride demon could have smiled, it would have smiled then.

“Do you feel small now, Inquisitor?” it asked, its words slow, languid. It was taking its time because it knew it could. In her right hand, Evelyn held her staff up like a shield, her backward steps small, searching. The Pride demon didn’t seem to move its feet, Evelyn didn’t seem to be able to put any distance between the creature and herself.

“You wield such power…” it droned, the words boring into Evelyn’s mind. “You hold so many lives in your hands. Tell me, Inquisitor: what do you think will happen when they find out you’ve failed them?”

“Failed…” she repeated softly, her boot crunching some broken thing as her steps came to a halt.

“You acted in haste. You lead them on. You always knew better. You told them to trust you. Where has that gotten you, Inquisitor? Here. All alone.”

Alone.

The word echoed in her mind as the Pride demon laughed, and though she had seemed unable to move away from the demon with her small backward steps, it took one step forward and closed the distance between them.


	55. Too, Too Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backward, backward she stepped, hoping to find the door but finding a wall instead. She could feel the cool morning breeze coming in from where she’d blown the doors open and she was so close, but too, too far away.

Alone.

Backward, backward she stepped, hoping to find the door but finding a wall instead. She could feel the cool morning breeze coming in from where she’d blown the doors open and she was so close, but too, too far away.

Alone.

Here she was, the scraping, metallic smell of the Pride demon inside her nostrils, inside her mind, like blood on a bared blade, and she was alone, and they hadn’t come for her -

No.

People were coming for her.

Cassandra, Dorian, Sera; they were coming for her.

Cullen - Cullen was waiting for her to come home. To Skyhold. Her home now. With her family.

She was not alone.

No. 

“NO!”

The word ripped its way out of her lungs as though her voice had a will of its own. 

She screamed it, and the blade was in her hands, and it was running through the demon, in, then out, then in again, until she was too spent to summon the blade once more, and then she was running, toward the door, only feet away, and down the stairs, and into the sunlight.


	56. He Hadn't Been Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behind her now, the footfalls grew heavy.
> 
> Evelyn lifted her head up, auburn hair falling back, and grasped her staff once more.

Evelyn collapsed on her knees on the hard stone. She’d stumbled down the stairs and made it to the first landing before she fell, her heart pounding, hands shaking. Her staff had clattered to the stone beside her, the hilt of her now-extinguished blade at still clutched tightly in her left hand as though its very presence would make her more secure - and in a way it would. 

Despite her frantic stabbing, Evelyn knew she couldn’t have done much damage to the Pride demon, and over her gasping breath, through her racing thoughts, she listened for the sound of its heavy footsteps, of its off-kilter laughter, and yet, with the bright sunshine on her back, in this beautiful, run-down place in the Graves, she almost felt like it would be okay if she didn’t get up again.

But then she thought about Alexandre. 

He hadn’t been dead - not when the Pride demon took him. He had not become a Horror. Alexandre had been alive when he had been taken by the beast. Head bowed, hair falling down around her face, Evelyn narrowed her eyes, remembering the uneasy, disorienting attraction of the Fade and the things that nested there. She was not so superior that she didn’t think that that might have been - could still one day become - her.

Behind her now, the footfalls grew heavy. 

Evelyn lifted her head up, auburn hair falling back, and grasped her staff once more. It was the demon who laughed, but it was the mage who smiled.


	57. I'm Trying to Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait, Sera,” Cassandra put up her hand.
> 
> “Is that…” Cullen began to ask, cupping his hand by his ear.

Sera twisted her lower lip to the side, bit the corner of it anxiously as the horses slowed to a trot. “Ah, so, yeah, d’joo…” she mumbled, as they dismounted their horses, leaving the beasts in a shaded stand of trees a few paces back from the clearing.

“Wait, Sera,” Cassandra put up her hand.

“Is that…” Cullen began to ask, cupping his hand by his ear.

“That’s what -” Sera started.

“I know that sound,” Dorian said, low and soft.

“I’m trying to tell you!” Sera insisted through gritted teeth.

“Pride demon,” said Cassandra and Dorian as one.

“Evelyn,” whispered Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks, just a quick chapter, but with some long updates! +gasp+
> 
> 1) You may know I bailed on NaNo this year trying to get my crafting business up to full speed for the holidays/to raise funds to participate in a protest (oh yes, I am that person). So I never started the sequel to Inquisition, Indiana (which you can read in its entirety at fanfiction.net but has not yet gone up on here since it still has not been fully beta read. At this point I may do it myself just to maintain consistency). That's gone to the back burner for now, because I'm starting on an entirely new (but related) Dragon Age project I'm calling Dragon Age: AD. It's kind of a misnomer because I accept that a) if Dragon Age were taking place in our reality it would still be post-BC and b) I prefer to use the BCE/CE notation anyway but c) using that information you've probably figured out what I'm going on about. I'm basically going to be rewriting Dragon Age (or bits of it) (or ideas from it) (or just kidnap some characters from it) set in the current era. So yes, CE would work much better (even though it means Common Era) but I don't think most people use the CE designation, so Dragon Age: AD it is. I almost went with Dragon Age: ME (modern era) just to be punny but since I don't play Mass Effect it kind of felt disingenuous. I've already started on the first installment, which yes, is a Cullen-mance, just to get me back in the swing of things because
> 
> 2) I'm currently writing the epilogue to this one here.
> 
> Finally.
> 
> Yep.


	58. Under Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn picked up her hand and waved, as if to say, “I’m here; I see you,” completely oblivious to the demon behind her.
> 
> Except that she absolutely was not.

She didn’t look hurt. She looked tired. She looked wounded, emotionally. She looked heart-broken. But she was in one piece.

Cullen’s heart jumped into his throat, and then his stomach, as the Pride Demon lurched out of the estate behind Evelyn, still down on her knees, and making no move to get up. He put his hand to his hilt and tried desperately to move forward, but even as his legs wouldn’t listen, Cassandra’s did. She shouted the Inquisitor's name, and bolted past Cullen. Evelyn picked her head up, and as her eyes lit upon Cassandra, she smiled, the kind of hopeful, relieved smile that punched Cullen in the gut.

Evelyn picked up her hand and waved, as if to say, “I’m here; I see you,” completely oblivious to the demon behind her.

Except that she absolutely was not.

Her wave turned into a swift motion, sweeping her hand behind her, and without her even looking, a wall of ice rose between Evelyn and the Pride Demon, and Cullen breathed in for the first time in what felt like minutes. 

The hand that had cast the wall of ice fell to Evelyn’s side, and she held herself in a half-hug as Cassandra, sword at the ready, darted past her, leaping agilely over the ice and running full-speed at the demon.

An arrow whizzed past Cullen’s head, and then a blast of something dark, and when he turned to look he saw Sera and Dorian already fully engaged, Sera carefully and quickly selecting perfect fletches from her quiver, Dorian aiming blasts of darkness around Cassandra, landing the dead on the flesh of the Pride Demon. The demon howled, reaching down and pulling arrows out of its skin - or what passed for its skin - distracted with this task so that it couldn’t take a swipe at Cassandra as she lunged forward to bash the creature hard with her shield. Despite its size, the demon seemed taken aback by the blow and seemed to wobble a bit on the landing, howling as Dorian changed tactics to shoot not darkness but a blast of fire from the palm of his hand, catching the demon upside the head with the magical conflagration. 

Cullen forced himself to look away, punching his boots into the ground as they carried him forward. Had Evelyn even seen him? But then - he caught her eye, and from her prone and helpless kneel, she winked at him, rose up, and whipped around, sending a hail of snow and ice down onto the Pride Demon. It continued to fall even as she turned her back on the demon, on Cassandra, and walked slowly down the steps towards Cullen, who had reached the bottom. His right arm was still across his body, palm resting on the pommel of his sword, but his grip relaxed with every step forward Evelyn took.

“What are you doing here?” she said, and with the sound of her voice, Cullen felt the stern expression on his face relax, felt the wrinkles smoothed from his forehead as he reached out his arms to her and she eagerly fell in.

She pressed her cheek against the armor on his chest, cool and hard though it was, as he ran a gloved hand over her knotted hair, the auburn almost golden in the full burn of the morning sun.

He wanted to answer her, to tell her what Leliana had found, but he glanced up at the demon and said only, “It’s a long story.”

Without pulling away, Evelyn muttered, “Tell me about it.”

“Are you alright?”

“Depends on your definition.”

“Fair enough.”

“While you two are absolutely precious,” Dorian called, stepping closer with every blast of his staff, “we are fighting a demon here.” He never took his eyes away from his target, hitting the creature with magic between each of Cassandra’s powerful swings, as the storm that Evelyn had conjured started to die away. Sera leapt from her spot some yards away and landed on the wide step just above where Cullen and Evelyn stood. She gave them a wink as she nocked an arrow and then spun on her heel, firing at the demon as though without aiming, though Evelyn knew better than that.

“Seems like you guys have it under control,” Evelyn said, pressing a few inches away from Cullen. He gave a gruff laugh as the demon howled in frustration or pain but allowed himself to pull away from Evelyn and step around her, drawing his sword as he made his way up the flight of stairs to the foot of the beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm gonna try to get a chapter of Dragon Age: AD (we're just gonna go with that) posted today. I'm currently dying of a migraine though, so no promises.


	59. Back from Where You Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You hide while your compatriots do you work for you?” the demon hissed, its words carrying a palpable vitriol that Cullen could feel coating him.

The thing was huge. He had known it intellectually, had taken it in, but it hadn’t really processed in Cullen’s mind until he stood in front of the demon and it stared down at him from what felt like his own height over again. Cassandra, Dorian, and Sera had done a good job on the thing - and Evelyn too, he remembered. Though the thing didn’t have skin in the same way he thought of sink, nevertheless the creature’s hide was pitted and marked, scorched and scarred. This strangely physical form, half-existing in this world, half in the Fade, was damaged. That was good. Very good.

The thoughts had darted through Cullen’s mind quickly, a result of his Templar training from what felt like eons ago. This was what he had been brought up to do. Well, this and -

His eyes darted to Evelyn, and for a moment the world around him blurred and darkened and all he could see was this woman, this woman that he had sworn more than one kind of fealty to, this woman, this Inquisitor, this mage. He heard the demon roar as someone - Cassandra? - landed a solid blow on the beast, and in a rush, he was back in the present, sword raised, his feet ready to push him in a lung toward the beast. 

And then, in a flash, Evelyn was beside him, drawing - no, shaping - her own blade, striking the demon as though she had done this a thousand times, and maybe she had; he thought then that he hadn’t seen her fight since the first days of this endeavor that would then become an Inquisition with Evelyn at the helm. She’d seemed so small and scrappy then, hardly in control of her staff, though she must have been shaken, and rightly so. And now here she was, staff in her right hand, blazing sword in her right, matching him blow for blow - though admittedly, he was distracted. Evelyn, on the other hand, was completely focused, even as she faded out of focus and darted through the beast, zipping behind it as Cassandra took Evelyn’s place beside Cullen. 

The demon was not frozen but was shocked through with cold, and it fell to one knee with a wild howl. Then, in a flutter, Evelyn seemed to phase out of existence. 

“You hide while your compatriots do you work for you?” the demon hissed, its words carrying a palpable vitriol that Cullen could feel coating him. 

“Not exactly,” came Evelyn’s voice from - where? But before Cullen could find her, a green light appeared just above the head of the Pride Demon, watery and ill. A rift? Resisting the urge to duck away from it, Evelyn slipped back into view, clinging to the decorative stonework of the small estate a few feet above the demon’s head. Her staff was secured across her back, free hand lifted toward the sky - it was she who was drawing down the rift, not the demon. 

The creature, battered and bruised now, shrieked at the Inquisitor, at the rift above its head which slowly seemed to tug at it, to tear, to rip at its wounds.

“Same to you,” she said. She reached for her hilt. “Go back from where you came. You’ve wasted enough of my time.” And as her sword ignited, she dropped onto the beast, jamming her blade into its cluster of eyes. 

The Pride Demon bucked wildly, reaching for Evelyn, trying to throw her off, and Cullen and Cassandra had to back up as the thing flailed. Evelyn, however, seemed almost unfazed, driving the summoned sword deeper and deeper into the demon’s skull. No matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t reach the Inquisitor to throw her off, and then - it just stopped trying. It started to drop, and Evelyn drew back her hilt, running down the length of the beast’s back as it fell forward. Just before it hit the ground, she lept off, landing at its feet, and it lay still.

Part out of caution, part out of defiance, Evelyn skiffed her boot across the ground to kick the foot of the fallen creature. It didn’t move. She stared at it a moment, her face stony as she slipped her hilt back into her belt. Then, wrinkling her nose, she spat on the creature’s body, and the rift above her head blinked out.

From below, Dorian clapped politely. Sera whooped. Cullen turned to see Cassandra smile.

Evelyn walked alongside the fallen creature’s corpse. She didn’t stop when she got to Cullen; she kept walking. 

“Come on,” she said, as she descended the stairs, “let’s go home. We’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters of Dragon Age: AD have posted. If you'd wanna take a look, I'd be pretty grateful (no pressure).


	60. We Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She picked up her gaze, letting her right hand drop lazily to meet the left and she sat up a little bit straighter, allowing - forcing, really - her shoulders to relax. How had she not heard him come in? His footsteps were never exactly subtle. And she’d heard neither door open nor close.

She sat at her desk, unmoving. The fingertips of her right hand were resting on her forehead. Her left hand was splayed out on the surface of the desk, listlessly touching the edges of a stack of parchment she needed to review. Her shoulders were drawn in like she was cold, or pulling away from something, or pulling in on herself.

_ You acted in haste.  _

There was a little kettle strung up over the fire so that she didn’t have to call for a fresh cup of tea every hour. There was a mug sitting off to her right, full of herbs and honey. It had gone cold twice now.

_ You lead them on.  _

The doors to the balcony were shut against the cold and the wind, and the room was welcoming and warm. Someone had laid extra blankets at the foot of her bed. It hadn’t been slept in.

_ You always knew better.  _

Her middle finger traced a small, agitated circle on her forehead. Her left hand ached. 

_ You told them to trust you. _

So much time, wasted.

_ Where has that gotten you, Inquisitor? _

“Evelyn?”

Cullen’s voice almost made her jump out of her skin.

She picked up her gaze, letting her right hand drop lazily to meet the left and she sat up a little bit straighter, allowing - forcing, really - her shoulders to relax. How had she not heard him come in? His footsteps were never exactly subtle. And she’d heard neither door open nor close.

As Evelyn blinked away her confusion, Cullen tried to fill the silence.

“It’s just… it’s been awhile since… We need you in the war room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is gonna be a long ride on the strugglebus to finish this.
> 
> Like, completely finish.
> 
> Hooray?


	61. Back to the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We nothing!” Her shout echoed off of the cold stone walls, but she quickly put up her hands and turned her face slightly away. “I didn’t mean,” she said, opening her eyes to Cullen’s shocked expression, “I only meant - this doesn’t matter. I promise you. All of you.” Her eyes swept the three of them. “Thibodeaux doesn’t matter. He was a young, confused man. He made a very bad choice, and Corypheus took advantage of that.”

Now it was the heels of both palms that were pressed against her forehead as Evelyn bent over the war table, her eyes staring at the map instead of the people bickering around her.

“Now that this threat has been dealt with, we can -”

“Cassandra, you were there! We both were! Dealt with? How do we know that that isn’t just one small part of this Thibodeaux deception?”

“How do you know it was, Commander?”

“My agents have been quiet this whole time, Cassandra. I’m starting to think -”

The sound just went on and on, and Evelyn heard it, every word; but above the sound, or behind it, the refrain went on and on.   
  
_You acted in haste. You lead them on. You always knew better. You told them to trust you. Where has that gotten you, Inquisitor?_

Her thumbs pulled at the outside corners of her eyelids, blurring her vision as she tried to will the world to quiet around her, within her, just for one second. But no matter how hard she tried, the din only got louder and louder.

“Please just stop,” she said softly, not moving, not even looking towards her advisers.

“If this was just the beginning of this, then we’re going to have to deal with Orlais.”

“To hell with Orlais! Gaspard dragged us - dragged Evelyn - through the mud trying to get information out of him, information he didn’t even have. He promised us ten times what he delivered.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Inquisitor sighed.

“Information doesn’t work like that, Commander.”

“Information might not, but our time and energies sure as flames do!”

“I think at this point Gaspard would be happy to be left out of this.”

“Yes, well, I’m certain I would have been happy to have been left out of his little Game.”

“Seeker, I’ve told you a dozen times -”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Evelyn shrieked, and she pounded her fists on the table so hard that more than half of the map markers toppled.

And for a moment, there was silence. Blessed silence.

“Thank you,” she breathed, grasping her skull with the tips of her fingers before dragging them through her auburn hair, eyes closed, head tipped almost reverently towards the ceiling.

Cullen made a slow approach. “Evelyn,” he said, then more softly, “love, we -”

“We nothing!” Her shout echoed off of the cold stone walls, but she quickly put up her hands and turned her face slightly away. “I didn’t mean,” she said, opening her eyes to Cullen’s shocked expression, “I only meant - this doesn’t matter. I promise you. All of you.” Her eyes swept the three of them. “Thibodeaux doesn’t matter. He was a young, confused man. He made a very bad choice, and Corypheus took advantage of that.”  _ Took advantage of me. _ “Or maybe Corypheus came first, I don’t - It doesn’t matter.” She flexed her left hand, the nails biting the palm, releasing, biting again. “It was a trick. It was a diversion. We need to focus on what we missed.” 

_ You lead them on. You always knew better. _

“No,” she whispered. “Not this time.”

“Ev?” Cullen asked, reaching out to rest his hand on her small shoulder.

She shook her head, and took a deep breath.

“I’m okay.” She reached out and took his free hand in hers, giving it a quick squeeze, before she turned back to the table.

“We’re looking at this wrong. We need to focus… flames, I don’t know. Literally everywhere we weren’t? Leliana, ignore… ignore everything we’ve talked about in the last two weeks. Maybe more. Let’s start at square one. Any news from outside Orlais? Anything unusual?”

“Are you sure about this, Inquisitor?” her spymaster asked.

She licked her lips. “I…”

“I trust you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, her arms folded across her chest.

_ You told them to trust you. _

She closed her eyes and inhaled. Cullen’s hand slipped from her shoulder to her elbow.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright, then,” Leliana said, her posture relaxing. Cullen tipped forward to right some of the fallen map markers. Cassandra nodded at Evelyn. “Let’s go back to the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks.
> 
> There's just one chapter left.
> 
> And it's an epilogue.
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this wild ride that was intentionally supposed to be mindless fluff and devolved into whatever... this is. There will be more. I don't know if it will be a sequel, and I'm working on a metric butt-ton of projects right now (which is good! I'm writing again!), but I enjoyed this sort of... what, adventure fluff? I like that. Adventure fluff. Anyway, I enjoyed it so much that I think I'd like to do it again. I got so much support and so many good remarks. More than I ever hoped for. I honestly thought I would be the only one reading this.
> 
> A bit of shameless self-promotion before I run out of characters:
> 
> The amazing CrowGirl for whom this very story is dedicated has taken over beta-reading Inquisition, Indiana so there WILL be updates! Possibly reposts as well, if we discover anything older needs a'fixin'. That was my NaNo piece last year (and it ended up being twice as long as it needed to be) which was the first Cullen-focused piece I wrote. I think it's the best fic I've ever written, quite frankly. And it's longer than Return of the King if you need... like... a way to lose a lot of hours.
> 
> I am currently focusing most of my efforts on Dragon Age: AD, which I highly recommend you check out. It's a modern day AU but very unlike Inquisition, Indiana. It's Dragon Age: II focused, so lots of Anders. Lots of political diatribes. It's a lot more adventure, a lot less fluff, but there's plenty of romantic tension and sexytimes and weird off-color humor. I'm really pleased with where it's going.
> 
> And lastly, I would love it if you would read my short fic "Take It All." It's one of my favorite flash fics I've ever done and it could use a little love. I'll also be posting another short one, "A Mage's Manifesto," within the next few days.
> 
> Sorry for that overload. Just wanted to let you guys know if you liked this, there's a lot more happening currently, and more soon.
> 
> Thanks again. You all have been great. See you in the epilogue.


	62. Epilogue: What We're in for Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Weird few days,” he said.
> 
> Eyes still closed, Evelyn laughed a short, soft laugh. She paused then, though, letting her eyes open enough to allow in a small sliver of light, and said, “Were they, though?”

Clothes were strewn all over the floor.

Evelyn lay back against the pillows with her eyes shut, chin resting against the top of Cullen’s head. His arms around her waist held her tight against him.

“Weird few days,” he said.

Eyes still closed, Evelyn laughed a short, soft laugh. She paused then, though, letting her eyes open enough to allow in a small sliver of light, and said, “Were they, though?”

Cullen “hmmed,” adjusting the angle of his shoulders to lay a little more flat against the mattress. A red lyrium smuggling operation run by a man who had disappeared so completely that his family thought him dead, only to reappear having been corrupted by Corypheus and made an abomination, all as a distraction?

“Not really, no,” he answered, “there’s just usually more space between these things.”

Evelyn cocked an eyebrow and made a little assenting gesture with her head. “That’s fair. A statistical anomaly.” Taking in a deep breath, Cullen’s head rose and fell slightly from where it rested on her shoulder. “Have to wonder, though,” she said, maneuvering slightly so that she could face him a little better, “what we’re in for now.”

“Though it may expressly be my job to think about, I really don’t want to think about it. Not right now,” Cullen answered, nudging Evelyn’s chin with his nose and planting a small kiss just below her jaw. Evelyn responded with a contented sigh.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not even now.

“It has to be something… something…”

“...big?” he offered.

“Yeah. Yes.” She didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to let it come at her as it would, and she would take it - whatever it was - head on when it arrived. But that would certainly leave her mercilessly unprepared, so now she was caught between trying to be ready, as best as she could, and not letting her actions lead her down the same path that had just failed her. She shrugged the blankets up a little higher around her shoulder, the one that Cullen was not using as a pillow, cocooning herself in their warmth, not at all anxious to face the following day, if only because she would have to look the people who had trusted her in the eyes and continue. They’d already forgiven her, if any of them had ever blamed her at all. She should have been at ease, she should be taking the path that Leliana had taken. While her own endeavors had been, let’s face it, she thought, a dangerous waste, those of her agents had come out with all the more information because of it. You can’t win ‘em all. And what she had won, she realized, was the loyalty of a group of people who realized why she misstepped, if they even thought that poorly of her, and thought that they probably would have done the same. They were excellent people, her cohorts, her friends, and they trusted her implicitly, not because she forced them to, but because they wanted to, because somehow they felt she had earned that trust, and that was not something they held against her as the demon’s words may have insinuated. It was something they held her to. And it made them all the better for it.

Cullen pressed his cheek to her clavicle and said, “You lost in there?”

“Mm? No. Just thinking.”

“I fear with you that can be the same thing.”

She smiled and craned her head down to kiss him on the forehead, and he rose up on his elbow in response, kissing her on the lips, softly at first, and then firm; long and slow. Ah, but here was something to hold against her, she thought, snaking her arms around Cullen’s waist, sighing a bit when he pulled away.

She turned her head towards the tall windows. Even in the darkness, she should see clouds of soft snow falling behind the reflections of the candles that were burning low in the room. In the darkness, with the soft flakes falling, building up along the railings and on the balcony, everything was soft, the echoes lost, feeling safe and insulated. Everything was so quiet.

Quiet.

She should have enjoyed it, this silence, this stillness. Should have enjoyed it for at least this night, this moment between things. But her mind went back to Skyhold, a place which had always been so boisterous, so bustling from the very moment she had arrived. The very same moment she had been made who she was. And now it felt so quiet.

“Does it feel different around here to you?”

“Feels a lot warmer,” he said, giving her a squeeze, but even in that, she could tell he was thinking. “I don’t… I can’t say for sure. We’ve been so busy…”

“Mm,” Evelyn considered. Maybe she’d just been away too much. Maybe she hadn’t really taken the time to talk to anyone she hadn’t been dragging along on her harebrained adventures. Though talking to Vivienne was an exercise in self-control at best, admittedly. And talking to Blackwall could be nice, soothing almost, but he was never one to volunteer too much - well, and she supposed in his position, she wouldn’t either. Talking to Bull just lead to drinking with Bull which just lead to a lot of regrets, even if they were worthwhile. Talking to Solas -

Solas hadn’t been very talkative lately. It felt like they had been on such good terms. But now he seemed to have withdrawn, become both anxious and depleted. He’d been working on… what, decorating? But his mind seemed to be somewhere else completely. Not in a way that she was used to, his head in the clouds, in the Fade, but distracted. Distracted like she was distracted.

“Solas seem weird to you?”

“Solas has never not seemed weird to me.” Cullen reached up and pushed Evelyn’s rust-toned hair away from her face, trailing his thumb along the freckles on her cheek. “I do believe you’re overthinking this, my love. Get some rest. Tomorrow we can deal with… whatever this turns out to be. Tonight, sleep. It’s probably nothing. Well, I mean, as much nothing as nothing can be these days,” he allowed.

“You’re probably right,” she said, reaching over to snuff out the candle on the bedside table with a pinch of her fingers. She shifted, readjusting against Cullen’s weight on her arm, her chest, a comforting weight. Twisting her fingers in his hair, holding him close, she let herself believe in the few minutes before she fell asleep that maybe, just maybe it was nothing.

As much as nothing could be, these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin.
> 
> I'm posting this last chapter just barely over one year from when I started it. Thanks for hanging in there. Again, keep your eyes peeled. I'll be posting a lot more stuff coming up. Much of it will be more serious, but don't worry. There's still plenty of fluff in our future.
> 
> <3


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